The Dark Seduction of Emma Chamberlin
by lustforlecter
Summary: Emma Chamberlin moved from St. Louis to Baltimore in the hopes of evading her dark, dangerous past. When she begins therapy with one Dr. Hannibal Lecter, will her past finally catch up to her, or will she be in even more peril than she could possibly have imagined? WARNING mentions of physical and emotional abuse, as well as rape. Also, this is a Hannibal fic, so murder & violence
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-_

A delicate, lightly tanned hand flew out from under the mass of seemingly infinite burgundy blankets, fumbling for the right button to silence the blaring alarm that was sounding in her ear. As Emma's fingers came into contact with the furthest unyielding metal button, she pressed down harshly. Groaning, she flung the covers off of her petite frame. As she stood, she raised her slender arms above and stretched out the kinks in her back that had developed over the course of the night before walking to the large window to the right of her bed, blearily rubbing the sleep out of her drowsy, chocolate eyes as she went. Emma threw the cream-colored curtains to either side, flinching as the gleaming rays assaulted her sensitive eyes. Padding over to the opposite side of the cozy room, she opened the frosted glass door to her modest closet, assessing her clothing with a slight frown. She had her first appointment with her new psychiatrist today and Emma was determined to look her best. As her agile hands flicked hanger after hanger of vibrant blouses and neutral skirts to the side, she considered what she knew of the doctor.  
_Dr. Hannibal Lecter,_ she thought to herself as her hands paused over a cerulean, scoop-necked dress. _Definitely an unusual name. _When she had called and scheduled the appointment, she hadn't been able to place the man's thick accent. _European, maybe? _She pulled the dress off the rack to examine it more closely before subtly shaking her head, and with a slight frown replaced it. She skimmed through more dresses before landing on a blouse of the same color. After a moment of consideration, she snagged it along with a sleek, black, pencil skirt, tossing them the few feet that distanced her from her bed and hooking her fingers onto the back of a pair of matching black pumps. She kicked the closet door shut, shuffling back over to where her clothes now lay somewhat haphazardly.  
This was Emma's first psychiatric appointment since moving to Baltimore, and although Dr. Lecter had come highly recommended by the few people she had become acquainted with since her relocation, she was hesitant. The transition from old psychiatrist to new was hard for her after having developed such a close affinity with Dr. Hopkins back in St. Louis.  
_Really, Emma, what's the worst he can do? Diagnose you with yet another mental illness? Turn you away after one session? You can handle this. Just remember, he's a professional. He has definitely handled more severe cases than yours, _she reassured herself as she tucked the bottom of her blouse into the skirt and deftly zipped up the tight black fabric. As she plopped onto the edge of the bed to slip on the heels, she noticed her hands trembling. Shaking them forcefully, she reapplied herself to the task before striding out of the pale bedroom and into the spacious, well-lit bathroom right across the hall in order to add some structure to her messy, borderline-black waves and apply some light makeup to her heart-shaped face.

Once that was accomplished, she examined herself in the full length mirror next to the vanity. Emma turned to the side, checking her profile to make sure the clothing was flattering from all angles. Satisfied, she walked down the narrow hallway to the living room, unplugging her charging cell phone and scooping up her keys as she walked to the door. As she locked up, she glanced at the time on her phone. _10:40. Perfect; I should arrive about 5 minutes early at this rate. _She jogged down the narrow steps of the apartment building staircase to the black 4-door that was parked right in front of the adjoining walkway. She unlocked the door and smoothly seated herself, gently shut the door, and started the car.

Fifteen minutes later she was walking into the waiting room of the one Dr. Hannibal Lecter. With no receptionist to observe, she merely sat and busied herself with the solitaire app she had downloaded to her phone. The wait was always the worst for her; doubts gnawed away at her, whispering unwelcomed scenarios to her already anxious mind. As the clock on her phone finally turned 11, the office door opened and a well-dressed man stepped out. Startled, Emma stood rather abruptly. She gave him a quick once-over and was far from disappointed. One word popped into Emma's mind to sum up Dr. Lecter: impeccable. From his grooming and apparel to his solicitous body language and kind smile, he was the very embodiment of the word. She was jogged from her thoughts as she heard the muffled chiming of her keys clashing together as they collided at her feet. Emma jerkily bent over to retrieve them, quickly righting herself. She peeked out from under her bangs at the patiently waiting psychiatrist, blushing profusely at her minor blunder.

"Ms. Chamberlin I presume?" Dr. Lecter inquired as the corner of his mouth tugged up into a hint of a smile. He gestured toward the black chair waiting inside his tasteful office.  
"Yes sir, but please, call me Emma," she murmured as her petite frame slid past him and took a seat in the designated chair. As she passed, Lecter couldn't help but appreciate his newest patient's appearance. He appreciated pieces of art after all, and Emma was definitely that. Unlike some of his other patients, she had bothered to dress nicely and appear put-together for the occasion, placing her best foot forward if you will. The style and cut of clothing suited her, and the color of the blouse flattered her glowing skin. The long mane of lustrous waves framed her delicate features beautifully, and the thick lashes that brushed her cheek with her downturned gaze were a beautiful contrast to the healthy, rosy skin they tickled. Dare he admit it, he was impressed.

Lecter closed the door gently and seated himself gracefully in the seat across from her, crossing his legs and folding his hands together. "Emma, then. What brings you here today, Emma?"

Emma shifted in her seat, trying in vain to conceal her nerves. She clasped her hands in her lap, subtly playing with the hemline of her skirt. "Well sir, I just moved here from St. Louis a week ago. I was seeing a psychiatrist there, but obviously continuing a professional relationship from Baltimore wasn't exactly feasible," she chuckled.  
He smiled, for what she assumed was at her small attempt at humor; in reality it was because of her prominent display of social etiquette and manners. He pondered over the last time he had been called sir not once, but twice, in less than a five minute span. He couldn't recall. Observing Emma closely, he reached onto the nearby table and picked up a pad of paper and accompanying sleek fountain pen. "Tell me, what were your reasons for seeing a psychiatrist in St. Louis?"  
She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "At 20, I was diagnosed with bipolar II, Borderline Personality Disorder, and anxiety. Sometimes I feel like a walking mental illness factory," she said with a light laugh. She sobered quickly, looking worried. "I know that some psychiatrists refuse to touch borderlines with a ten-foot pole. It took me a year to find a competent psychiatrist, but once I found the right combination of meds and someone I trusted, I started making considerable improvement," she said with an air of desperation. She felt Dr. Lecter could help her greatly here in Baltimore, and was scared that he would be deterred by her diagnoses. "I'm much better now; my meds have been reduced in dosage and everything. All I really need is a psychiatrist adept enough to assist me in keeping my thinking patterns in check and to help me work through situations that might be self-destructive or harmful to others. It's still hard for me to distinguish that at times," she confided.  
With a lightly arched eyebrow, Lecter considered her statements as his artistic hand moved fluidly across the page, jotting down notes as she spoke. Emma watched in fascination as his hand progressed neatly along the paper, down and to the left, and back across. The movements were so elegant. _I wonder if he sketches. _He set the pad down on his lap, focusing his attention back on her. He regarded her for a moment; it felt like ages to Emma. Right when she was convinced he was going to tell her that she would need to seek out someone other than him to assist her, he spoke.

"Emma, I would very much like to counsel you, I should think. You are an interesting case, and to be frank, I do enjoy a challenge."  
Her eyes lit up and a slow grin spread across her lovely face. "Oh Dr. Lecter, I'm so pleased to hear that! I can't thank you enough!"  
Lecter stood, before striding to his desk and pulling out his planner. He opened it and rested a hand on either side of the planner, leaning on the polished desk. "I'd like to see you twice a week; preferably Tuesday and Friday at 5 pm if convenient for you." He glanced up for Emma's response.  
"Those work perfectly, Dr. Lecter. And if not, I'll rearrange my schedule to make them work." She nodded her head swiftly, as if confirming to herself the declaration.

Lecter straightened up and closed his planner with care. "In that case, I shall see you in three days' time Ms. Chamberlin. I look forward to our session."

As Emma stood, he walked back over to her, holding out his hand. She shook it firmly, smiling up at the much taller psychiatrist. "Thank you so much, Dr. Lecter. I'll see you on Friday." He held the door open for her, and with a gentle wave on her part, she walked out the door at the other end of the waiting room.  
Lecter eyed his new patient with dancing eyes and a barely-concealed smirk. _Oh this should be fun._


	2. Chapter 2

Emma slammed her car door, ducking her head down as she ran through the pouring rain to the front of the office building. It was Friday, and her appointment started in five minutes. She threw open the door and rushed inside, shutting it tightly behind her. She used her already dampened hands to try and wipe some of the superficial water off the top of her head to no avail. With a sigh, she straightened her simple, raindrop-stained, purple dress before taking a seat. Right as she sat down, Dr. Lecter opened the door and ushered her inside.

"Emma, how wonderful to see you; please, take a seat." Lecter snapped the door shut before joining Emma at the sitting area. "How have you been these past few days?"

"It's a pleasure to see you as well, Doctor. I've been well, thank you for asking. And yourself?"

"Perfectly satisfactory, thank you Emma. Let's begin, shall we? What would you like to discuss today?" Lecter inquired with a solicitous smile.

Emma's gaze wandered around the spacious office as she pondered; she took in the vast collection of books he had procured, as well as his tasteful choice in furnishings. "I'm not quite sure, Doctor," she said truthfully. "I'm not very good at this part of the sessions." Emma smiled self-deprecatingly.

"How about we start with something relatively easy? Tell me about your move. Why Baltimore?"

At this inquiry, Emma paled slightly and her gaze turned downward. She looked up under her eyelashes at him, and blew her long bangs out of her face. "Honestly Dr. Lecter, I chose Baltimore because it was the first place I thought of that was as far away from St. Louis as I could get. I guess it didn't hurt that I had been offered a position at the art museum here in the city earlier this month. All I had to do was call them up, ask about the position, and they gave it to me with no questions asked except when could I start. That was definitely a plus."

_Well that's intriguing, _Lecter thought. Not missing a beat, he stated, "Ms. Chamberlin, I do believe you dodged part of my question. Why did you choose to move in the first place?" He folded his hands, leaning back in his chair to observe her carefully.

Emma smiled sheepishly. "My apologies, Dr. Lecter, that wasn't entirely my intention." She took in a deep breath, exhaling noisily. "The main reason for my move was to get as far away from an ex-boyfriend as was possible while still being able to further my career." She hesitated. "He…wasn't the nicest to me." As she spoke, Lecter noticed her touching a light scar that rested across her left cheekbone. If one did not look carefully for it, one wouldn't even notice its presence on her otherwise unmarked face. His curiosity was most definitely piqued.

"I noticed you touching the scarring on your cheek. I take it that was from him?"

Dropping her hand as if scalded, she studied Lecter's expensive shoes as she said, "He referred to it as 'something to remember him by.' You recall me mentioning that the museum here had offered me that job?" Lecter nodded. "Well, I was dating Sean at the time. I was so excited about the prospect of furthering my career and actually putting my art history and anthropology degrees to use for once. I had wanted to move out here as soon as they'd asked me; he took that as me expressing desire to leave him behind. That's when I got this…this 'memento.'" Emma radiated shame and disgust as she told her tale. She forced a smile. "I have a knack for wanting people in my life that are no good for me."

Lecter leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands in front of himself. His acute eyes read every flicker of emotion that passed Emma's face. He saw the anguish, shame, fear, and resentment as soon as it manifested. With her last statement, he felt a twinge of emotion in his chest; as soon as he recognized its appearance, he brushed it away as a triviality. "This man's actions were his alone; you should feel neither responsibility, nor accountability for them. This type of behavior would have presented itself with any romantic partner. That kind of man thrives on power; not just any power, but the specific kind that comes with dominance and making one submit through any and all means. Once he acquires that power, he will not be willing to let it go easily. I take it that there was a specific set of events that spurred your move here?"

Emma nodded slowly, meeting the psychiatrist's astute eyes. "He broke into my place," she said bluntly. "I came home from work one day and written on the walls in red paint were the words, 'Miss me yet?' He…he drew a red line over my eyes in each of the pictures in my apartment." She shuddered. "The next day I placed the phone call to Baltimore and packed my things."

"How long ago did this take place?"

"Almost two weeks ago. As you can see, I wasted no time whatsoever in seeking out a new psychiatrist," said Emma wryly.

Lecter chuckled at Emma's attempt to lighten the mood; he could tell that she was done with the subject for today and he wouldn't press her just yet. "Tell me about this new position you took. What exactly are your duties?" Lecter frequented the museum in order to attend everything from galas to the new exhibitions; he was rather astonished he hadn't run into her yet.

With that question, Emma's entire demeanor changed. She was in her element. With bright eyes and enthusiastic gesticulations, she said, "I mostly work behind the scenes. I authenticate and date everything from ancient Egyptian artifacts recovered from new archaeological digs, to famous paintings by Renoirs and Degas. I consider myself to be one of the luckiest people on Earth; not many can say they've handled a genuine piece by the artists from their high school history lessons." A wide grin caused the skin around her eyes to crinkle slightly in the corners, managing to showcase her twinkling orbs even more. "Needless to say, I adore my job."

Lecter was impressed. Her admiration of art rivaled his own, and the more he talked with Ms. Chamberlin, the more he was appreciative of her. This alone would make her a welcome guest at his dinner table. "It sounds like a very rewarding position. I daresay you shall endeavor to bring more variety to the museum than the past individual." _His liver worked well in the main course though; I will give him that._

Emma beamed. "Thank you Dr. Lecter. It would be no stretch of the imagination to assume you frequent the museum? One of my coworkers spoke very highly of you; apparently she had received some treatment from you a few years back and said you held the highest reputation of any psychiatrist in Baltimore." She grinned slyly. "She might have also mentioned how incredibly handsome you are, and warned me to do my best to not fall in love with you."

Lecter cocked his head. "Is that something you usually do, Ms. Chamberlin? Fall in love with those assisting you in bettering your mental health?"

Emma gazed up at Lecter innocently. "Dr. Lecter, I can truthfully say that I do my very best to never fall for my psychiatrists." Her eyes gained a glimmer of mischief. "I merely gain a healthy appreciation for them." She laughed at her own joke. "In all seriousness, Dr. Lecter, I have thus far never developed a crush on my psychiatrist; a dependency, probably, but to this date never anything of a romantic notion. I hope that relieves any concern you might have developed," said Emma as she smiled warmly at him.

Lecter returned Emma's smile. "I will make sure to bear that in mind. However, I believe that is all the time we have for today. I will see you Tuesday at 5 pm. I should also mention that I have a 24 hour cancellation policy, so please call in advance if something arises and you will not be able to attend our scheduled appointment," he said as he walked her to the door. Opening it widely, he stood with his back to the door, facing Emma.

"Thank you, Dr. Lecter. So far, these appointments have been more of a joy than a burden. I appreciate your dedication to your work." Emma turned to leave. "Goodbye, Doctor. I hope you have a pleasant weekend!"

"You as well, Ms. Chamberlin," he said with a small smile.

As Emma was about to exit the waiting room, the outer door opened alarmingly quickly, smacking her into the wall. As she made impact with the wall, her head slammed into it. Emma slid to the floor, feeling incredibly dizzy. Will Graham peeked around the door to see what it had hit, eyes widening in alarm. He rushed to her, checking her head. Hannibal quickly walked over to the pair, kneeling beside Ms. Chamberlin.

With concern lacing his lovely voice, Hannibal asked, "Emma, are you alright?"

"Just a bit dizzy, no worries. I'm sure it's all fine." She tried to stand up along with Hannibal, only to feel her legs give out. He caught her quickly, bringing her close so that she could use his frame as a support. She tried to stand on her own again, only to begin collapsing once more. Hannibal put an arm beneath her torso, the other under her knees, and picked her up, carrying her to his office. He laid her on the chaise lounge on the opposite side of the room, crouching down beside her. Will had followed him into the room and stood beside the chaise, rubbing the back of his head in worry and embarrassment. "Will she be alright?" he asked Hannibal quietly.

Hannibal was examining Emma's head, pressing lightly with nimble fingertips along her skull. "My thoughts are she should be fine. Just some bruising and maybe a slight concussion." Emma was gazing at the ceiling, taking deep breaths, before she turned slightly to Will, smiled, and held out her hand.

"I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting. I'm Emma Chamberlin."

Will reached out and shook her hand lightly with his own, his face caught somewhere between a grin and a grimace. "Will Graham. I'm sorry that we met under these conditions, Ms. Chamberlin."

"Please, call me Emma. No need to be so formal with me, Mr. Graham. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, even if the circumstances leave something to be desired," said Emma with a wry smile. "Ouch." Her forehead crumpled as the doctor's skilled fingers pressed on a particularly sensitive area.

"Well then if I'm to call you Emma, it's only fair you call me Will," he said with a warm smile. "I take it you're a patient of Hannibal's?"

She beamed at him. "Yes sir, I certainly am! This was my second session. I made the mistake of thinking the rest of my day was to be dull," said Emma with a wink and a laugh. She turned to Hannibal and murmured, "I'm sure I can stand now, Doctor. I don't want to keep you from your business with Will. I'm so sorry I've impeded on your time as much as I already have. I feel dreadful for it." She sat up gently, clutching her head. "Note to self: pick up aspirin on the way home."

Hannibal stood up gradually as he scrutinized her. "Let me check your eyes and if the results are normal then I'll help you to your car." He walked over to his desk, opened one of the heavy wooden drawers, and retrieved a slender flashlight. As he neared Emma, he switched it on and sat closely beside her on the chaise. Emma's nose was assaulted by the pleasant smell of the psychiatrist, and before she got caught up in trying to decipher what exactly his scent was comprised of, she focused firmly on his words. "Look directly at my finger and follow it with your eyes." As he moved his finger left to right, he studied her eye movement as well as dilation. He frowned slightly. "Emma, I would feel much better if you would allow either Will or me to drive you home."

Emma looked horrified. "Oh Dr. Lecter I couldn't possibly take up more of your time and hinder your ability to discuss things with Will! You two had this appointment set up for weeks I'm sure! I'll walk to a bus stop or something, honestly, I'll be fine. Please don't let me keep you from your meeting!"

"Nonsense, you are not going to take the bus. Will, was there anything of a time-sensitive nature we needed to discuss, or would it be alright if we rescheduled for later this evening at my home?"

"Dr. Lecter, that's not necessary, I assure you. I just wanted to update you on a new case and run a few ideas past you. I had only planned on staying for 20 minutes. It can wait until tomorrow."

Hannibal frowned lightly as he thought. "Emma, would you be alright waiting briefly while Will and I discuss this? Then either he or I can drive you home and make sure you're alright."

Emma looked positively miserable at the fact that these gentlemen had to go out of their way for her. "You're doing me the service of taking me home, Doctor; I'd wait the entire day if that were what was convenient for you."

Lecter smiled at her warmly; she really did have impeccable manners. "Alright, Emma, you just rest here and Will and I will step into the waiting room to talk."

Emma shot up, clutching her head as she did so. "No, no, Doctor! The least I can do is move out of your way so you can use your own office. I'll sit in the waiting room." Before either Will or Hannibal could object, Emma was treading unsteadily toward the office door.

Will rushed up beside her and helped her into one of the waiting room chairs.

"Thanks," said Emma shakily with a wan smile.

Will awkwardly returned the expression. "You sure you're okay out here? It honestly shouldn't take long at all."

Emma gazed up at him somewhat blearily. "I'll be fine, Will. It's just a bump on the head. And who knows, if we're lucky maybe it jarred things around just right and fixed some of my problems!"

Will chuckled and hesitantly headed back toward the office. As he closed the door behind him, he spotted Hannibal placing the flashlight back in its designated drawer. Will sat down in his usual chair, waiting for Hannibal to join him.

"She's extremely likeable," said Will as he drummed his hands on the arms of the leather chair.

Hannibal seated himself smoothly, crossing his legs. "Yes, she is, isn't she? Quite refreshing from the usual patients I encounter."

"I can't believe I slammed the door into her. As if this day couldn't get any more complicated," said Will with a sigh. "Did you want to take her home, or should I?"

"Let's see who lives closest to her, and make the decision based on that. I'm sure she'd hate for either of us to even be the slightest inconvenienced. Now, what did you want to discuss with me? You mentioned something about a new case?"

Will removed his glasses and rubbed his hand over his face roughly. "Yeah, this afternoon I went out to a crime scene just outside Baltimore; there was a cliff face there. The killer had skinned the victim and used her flesh, blood, and hair to make a piece of artwork on the rock. We're trying to figure out if the piece is an original or if it's a copy of a famous work. That will give us more of a clue into the motive. I know you're, well, cultured for lack of a better term, and I was wondering if you recognized it." Will pulled a photograph out from his messenger bag, leaning over to hand it to Lecter.

Lecter studied the photo, and couldn't recall ever having seen the piece before. "I'm sorry Will, the artwork doesn't look familiar." He thought for a moment. "Emma works at the museum here in the city. Perhaps you should ask her opinion."

Will frowned, shaking his head slightly. "I'm not sure I should, especially with her head injury. Is she even stable enough to view something of this nature?"

Hannibal pondered the inquiry, nodding slowly. "Yes, I think so. And if by some happenstance I'm mistaken, it will just give her and I something to discuss at her next session," he said with a wry smile. "Ms. Chamberlin strikes me as a very capable young woman. Art is her passion, and from what little I've discussed with her, she seems very knowledgeable on the subject."

Will considered what Hannibal said, and sighed. "I should probably be running this by Jack first, but what the hell. Let's see if she's familiar with the work."

Both men rose from their seats and walked to the door, Hannibal holding it open for Will to exit first. Emma looked up with care, smiling at them. "Hello gentlemen. Done so soon?"

Will and Hannibal seated themselves on either side of Emma as Will once more pulled out the photo, face down this time. "Emma, I have a favor to ask."

Emma perked up, giving Will her undivided attention. "Of course, anything I can do to help you. What do you require?"

With a slight grimace, Will said, "I work for the FBI in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. My job is to help catch killers. Today, one of them…utilized…their victim in order to create a painting of sorts. I asked Dr. Lecter if he was familiar with the piece, or if he thought it was an original piece created by the killer. Unfortunately he was unable to recognize the piece, and he mentioned you're something of an expert. Would you be willing to look at a picture of the crime scene for me and see if it rings any bells? Obviously this would remain confidential and you wouldn't be able to discuss this with anyone outside of the BAU or Dr. Lecter."

Emma's doe eyes sparkled with curiosity at the gruesome challenge, eager to test herself. "Yes, of course. I'll see if I can recognize it. You don't have to worry about me blabbing about the case; I doubt anyone would believe an FBI agent asked for assistance from me of all people." She laughed softly and held out her hand. "May I?"

Will placed the photograph in her hand, watching her face carefully as she flipped it over. Instead of a horrified expression or even one of disgust, Emma's only became more inquisitive. Her eyes roved across the photo, taking in every aspect. She frowned slightly, before her eyes lit up with recognition. "I think it's a depiction of Saint Mark from Tintoretto's piece 'Miracle of the Slave.'" She turned to Lecter. "You might recognize it by the name 'Miracle of St. Mark,' Dr. Lecter. It's housed in a gallery in Venice. Not many would recognize this piece since it isn't one of the most famous from the Renaissance, but you strike me as a bit of a Renaissance man yourself, Doctor," said Emma with a wink. She turned back to the photo, running her finger over the specific areas as she spoke. "The descent of St. Mark is quite accurately represented here, and the killer laid it out perfectly on the cliff face for shading purposes. I mean utilizing the lightest part of the rock to act as the halo? Inspired."

As she handed the photo back to Will, she noticed him staring at her, slackjawed. Alarmed, she looked up at Hannibal. "Was that not good? Did I say something wrong?"

Hannibal smiled slightly at Emma. "On the contrary, my dear, that was incredibly insightful. Will is merely impressed at the level of perception. If I recall correctly, St. Mark isn't the sole focus of the painting though."

Emma nodded her head quickly in agreement. "While the painting is a scene of St. Mark's life taken from Jacopo da Varazze's 'Golden Legend,' it depicts St. Mark intervening to make invulnerable a slave about to be martyred for his veneration of another saint's relics. So why the killer chose to just depict one fraction of the overall focus of the painting instead of it in its entirety confounds me. Do you think he ran out of materials? Or was it planned this way?"

"He had it planned." Will glanced up at his companions. "None of his 'materials' went to waste on this project. He used them all, and with care. With each kill, he'll recreate another aspect of the painting." He stood up abruptly. "I need to inform Jack. Excuse me for just a second." Will walked to the other side of the waiting room, quickly dialing Jack's number. As soon as the latter man answered, the former launched into a hurried retelling of the information he had gained from Emma.

"How's your head?" asked Hannibal, slight concern lacing his voice.

Emma scrunched her nose up as she shrugged. "It's nothing, Doctor, truly. I've been through much worse. This is the equivalent of a stubbed toe to me."

Although Hannibal had just met the girl a few days ago, he was developing a fondness of sorts for Emma; the thought of a concussed head meaning as much to her as if she had stubbed her toe irked him. Despite her mental disorders, Emma was a well-mannered, bright, sweetheart of a woman, and he found it very rude indeed that someone would physically abuse her for nothing more than inflating the man's own ego. Before he delved into a deep analysis of the slight emotion he was feeling, he brushed it away again. As he did so, Hannibal noticed Will hang up the phone and walk back over to where he and Emma were seated.

"Now that that's all taken care of, Emma, Dr. Lecter and I were wondering where exactly it is that you live in Baltimore so that we know which of us lives closer to you so that we can drop you off at home and make sure you're set for the night."

"Until I can find something nicer, I'm renting a place just south of the city, near Violetville. I can't apologize enough to you both. I should have watched where I was going, it's just so embarrassing."

"Emma, you have nothing to feel guilty about. It was my fault for opening the door so harshly and being careless. Now I'd be glad to take you home, but I live in the other direction. I do believe Dr. Lecter is closer to you than I am." He turned to Hannibal. "Would you mind terribly, Doctor?"

Hannibal stood up smartly, smoothing his suit jacket of any wrinkles. "It would be my pleasure. Emma, if you're ready?" As Emma stood shakily, Hannibal offered his arm to her. She accepted graciously, sliding her arm under his, resting her hand in the crook of his arm.

Will opened the door for the two, watching as Hannibal guided Emma to his automobile with care. Hannibal opened the passenger side door for her, helping her gently into the seat. Once she was squared away, Hannibal closed the door with a light touch. He waved goodbye to Will, who was starting up his own car, before joining Emma inside the vehicle.

Hannibal backed out of the parking lot with ease, before transitioning smoothly to driving down the deserted street. He glanced at Emma, who had closed her eyes and rested her head back against the seat. Her dusty pink lips were turned down in a slight frown, her brows furrowed. As he observed her intermittently, he noticed her frown become more pronounced and a shudder pass through her small frame.

"How are you feeling, Emma?"

With a start, Emma's eyes flashed open, focusing on the doctor. Her brow returned to the smooth, tanned skin it had been earlier in the day, and she humored him with a slight smile. "I'll be just fine, Dr. Lecter. Thank you for asking. I just need to remind myself that this head bump actually was an accident," said Emma as her smile tightened. "But let's not talk about that. You're off the clock and I'm afraid I can't afford two sessions in one day," she joked.

Hannibal chuckled, making himself a mental note to revisit the topic at a later date. "Tell me, Emma, what are your hobbies, if I may be so bold as to inquire?"

Emma smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid my activities aren't that sensational, Doctor. I enjoy sketching when the mood strikes me, I read more books than should probably be allowed, I enjoy the occasional theatre performance, and," she dropped her voice to a stage whisper, "my guilty pleasures are crime dramas on television." She laughed freely, returning to her normal volume. "Don't judge me too harshly, Doctor. Everyone has their vices," said Emma with playful smile. "What about yourself, if you don't mind me asking? You said you enjoy looking at art, but what else do you do in your free time?"

_If only you knew, Ms. Chamberlin; if only you knew. _"We seem to share similar interests. The theatre and sketching are two of my pastimes. I also take great pleasure in fine wines, gourmet food, classical music, and the opera. Three of the four are present at every dinner party I host."

"So what you're saying is that you perform for your guests," said Emma good-naturedly.

Hannibal glanced at her, replying, "In a sense. Although not with opera as you were suggesting." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The meals I prepare are in a sense a performance. Each piece plays a crucial part, and brings the entirety together. Whether it be the wine selection, the food itself, the placement of guests, or the lighting, it all is vital to the experience. Rather like brushstrokes on a painting, I should think."

Emma stared at her psychiatrist. "That was beautiful, Dr. Lecter. That was one of the most eloquently put things I have ever heard."

Hannibal smiled good naturedly at her. "The sentiment is appreciated, Emma. Speaking of dinner parties, I would like to invite you to one I am hosting this Sunday. Will and a few colleagues will also be in attendance. It's rather untoward of me to invite such a new patient to my home, but allow me the chance to entertain you in apology for your injuries at my office. I'm sure that Will would also enjoy your company; as I'm sure you observed today, he can be a little anxious around people. He seems to have taken a liking to you though."

Emma's eyes widened marginally in astonishment. "I'm honored, Doctor, thank you so much for the invitation. I would love to attend, but," she fractionally shrank back into her seat, "I'm rather in the same boat as Will regarding anxiousness. I'm afraid I would embarrass you," confided Emma. "Of course I will attend, but may I apologize in advance for the shy demeanor I'm sure I will be in possession of on that night."

"I observed your interactions with Will, and your social etiquette and skills were impeccable. You'll do just fine. Dinner will be served at 7 pm, so I suggest arriving around 6:30."

Throughout the discussion, Emma had guided Lecter to her home; just as he finished his sentence, he pulled up in front of the designated location.

Emma turned to Hannibal, smiling up gently at him. "I cannot thank you enough for everything you've done for me today, sir, including the invitation."

"Think nothing of it Emma; I look forward to seeing you on Sunday."

"See you then, Doctor, and thank you again." Emma closed the door to the vehicle and stepped up onto the curb. She gave a slight wave, turning around and walking cautiously to the staircase. As soon as she was out of sight, Hannibal put the car into gear and drove back down the road the way he came, pondering just what Ms. Chamberlin's reaction to the one and only Freddie Lounds would be.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Emma woke up with a blistering headache. "Ow," she muttered as she crawled out of the safety of her copious amount of blankets. Padding softly to the brightly lit bathroom, she rummaged through the unobtrusive medicine cabinet to the left of the vanity, searching for a painkiller to alleviate the dull ache on the right side of her head. Knocking over a container of antidepressants and one of allergy medicine, Emma stumbled across the small, white bottle that held what she sought. She shook out the last two remaining ibuprofen, popped them in her mouth, and tossed out the empty pill bottle.

Walking back into her room, Emma decided since she was already up she might as well search her closet to see if she had anything suitable for Dr. Lecter's dinner party the next evening. She rifled through a number of dresses, sporadically pulling one out to examine it closer, each time growing more and more underwhelmed. She already knew she would be inclined to be shy, so she didn't want to risk her wardrobe being anything other than perfection for the night's events; the last thing she wanted was to embarrass Dr. Lecter when he'd gone out of his way for her and thought to invite her to his event in the first place. _Maybe I'll pick up a nice bottle of wine for him while I'm out today. I'll have to brush up on my wine knowledge before I go, _she reminded herself. Letting out a sigh of frustration, Emma trudged out of her closet, grabbing a black knee length skirt and silk, crimson top on her way. She donned the apparel, slipped on a pair of strappy black heels, and headed back to the bathroom to fix her hair and makeup for the day.

Having done that, Emma strode back into her room, grabbing the black pea coat that was draped on the chair, and walked to the living room. Donning the coat, she snagged her keys and phone, and was out the door.

Two hours later, Emma was home with the perfect dress for the next evening and a wine that the connoisseur at the local winery had assured her was top notch, as well as versatile enough to pair nicely with a variety of gourmet dishes. Emma just hoped it would be something the doctor would enjoy.

She walked down the narrow hallway to her bedroom, hanging the garment bag on the hook on the back of her door. The dress was expensive, and Emma would probably stab someone if so much as a wrinkle marred the dress's fabric before she wore it. It was quite the investment. She shrugged out of her coat, throwing it back onto the wicker chair in the corner, and kicked off her shoes. Going back into her closet, Emma emerged wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a white tank top, throwing the clothes from the day into her laundry basket. She threw herself onto her bed, grabbed her laptop, opened it, and rested it in front of her. _Time to brush up on my gourmet knowledge; how awful would it be to be the only one there not fully up to speed on such things? _She shuddered at the thought.

With a few painless Google searches, Emma now had four different tabs open, each dedicated to a different aspect of gourmet meals and accompanying wines. Emma narrowed her eyes in concentration, determined to learn as much as possible in order to be on par with Dr. Lecter's other esteemed guests. By dinner time, Emma now considered herself passable in all things gourmet, and felt her anxiety ease up as a result.

She meandered into her kitchen, warmed up some ravioli from the other night in the microwave, and popped open a can of Coke. As she took a sip, she pondered who all might be in attendance tomorrow night. The fact that she would know someone else there besides Dr. Lecter comforted her, and she tried not to fret too much about if she could hold her own in such well-regarded company. The microwave sounded, and she scooped the bowl out with a pair of potholders. She set it down on her modest oak table, taking a seat in one of the four matching chairs. Emma had been so caught up in educating herself that she hadn't noticed how absolutely ravenous she was; five minutes later, the leftover ravioli was devoured and Emma felt like she was about to burst. After washing out the bowl and the fork she used, she waddled over to the television, plopped down on the honey leather couch in front of it, and turned on "Criminal Minds."

When she had discussed her guilty pleasure with Lecter the previous evening, this was the program that had been at the forefront of her mind. Although she was sure that this was a far cry from the actual happenings at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, she couldn't help but be absolutely enthralled. If she had to pick a career other than her beloved one at the museum, she would have chosen to pursue a line of work in criminal profiling.

As Emma settled in and allowed herself to become lost in the program, she couldn't help but compare Will Graham to the agents on the show. He lacked the personal confidence of those agents, but his keen mind seemed to put him at a level that altogether exceeded theirs. She remembered the way he had answered her questions about the recreation at the crime scene, and was lost in thought as she recalled how mesmerized she had been at how sure he was about the killer's thought processes. _I'll have to ask him about that when I see him next. I wonder how he does that. Are all agents like that? I swear, my curiosity will be the death of me one day._

Before Emma knew it, she had marathoned half of a season, and it was now a little after midnight. Sighing, she stood up, stretched, and padded to her bedroom. Shutting the curtains and turning the light out, she pulled back her covers and slid into bed. Moonlight crept in through the tops of the curtains, casting a slight illumination on her ceiling. Staring up at it, Emma couldn't help but agonize over if she could hold her own in what she assured herself was Lecter's select few companions. _Only time will tell._

The entirety of the next morning and afternoon was spent in her bathroom; legs were shaved, skin was exfoliated, hair was washed and conditioned, nails were painted, eyebrows were plucked, and head to toe was moisturized. By 4 pm, Emma was finally content with the state of her. She had an hour before she would dress and do her makeup and hair, so until then she had to find an occupation of her time.

Normally she would just clean to ease this level of fretfulness, but after spending the whole day making sure she smelled nice, she wouldn't ruin it by stinking herself up with the pungent perfume of household cleaners. Instead, Emma decided she would test her knowledge of classical music. While she was immensely familiar with the works of Chopin and the like, she was sure Dr. Lecter would choose something a little less well-known. After careful perusal, she found a playlist on the internet full of a variety of composers. She used it as a guide to test herself; she had taken a handful of music history classes in college, but that was two years ago and she was rusty.

While she put away some clean clothes, the symphony of music caressed the walls of her bedroom, floating to her ears much like a lover's touch. She found herself recognizing and identifying the majority of the music, and when something baffled her, she walked across the room and familiarized herself with the composer. In no time at all, it was a little after 5, so she decided to start getting ready. She fetched the garment bag from the back of her door and laid it on the bed, carefully unzipping it.

Inside laid a scarlet colored knee length dress with a sweetheart neckline. The fabric gathered slightly at the waist, creating a very flattering silhouette. She slid it on with care, zipping up the side slowly as not to catch on the ends of her hair or the fabric of the dress.

She walked to the closet, pulled out a pair of matching peep-toe pumps, and slid those on her polished feet. Hurrying to the bathroom, she started on her hair. Deciding an up-do would be most suited for the style of dress she picked, she smoothed out her luscious waves with product and tightened up a few slacking spaces before piling it onto the top of her head. Once her hair was flawless and her bangs held a sophisticated swoop slightly covering her right eye, she began applying the smoky eye and naturally glossed lip she had decided on.

She eyed herself in the full-length mirror, giving herself on final critique. Deciding she looked acceptable, she grabbed a knee-length black wool coat, put it on, and put her keys and phone into a matching black clutch. She snagged the bottle of wine she had picked up for her psychiatrist, and was out the door.

Twenty minutes later, she was pulling up outside of Hannibal Lecter's home. She had managed to get herself turned around, but found the correct road without too much trouble. As she parked her car and started walking up to the formidable door, she felt as if her heart was about to burst. She briefly considered turning back, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind it was dismissed. She was raised better than that; she had given her word that she would attend, and that was that.

As she stepped up to the solid mahogany front door, she checked her watch: 6:29. _Better to be a minute early than a minute late, _she thought to herself, and knocked lightly. A few seconds later Lecter opened the door, dressed to the nines in the most expensive looking suit Emma had ever seen. She didn't even want to think about what it could possibly be made of, let alone the cost. She grinned up at her host, presenting the bottle of wine to him as she stepped over the threshold. She shrugged out of her coat, placing it in Hannibal's proffered hand with thanks.

"I'm sorry that I didn't inquire previously as to what type of wine you preferred; the local connoisseur at the winery told me this was a very versatile wine. If you don't like it, please let me know and I'll pick up something more along the lines of what you prefer. I just wanted to get you something since you were kind enough to invite me tonight."

Hannibal was slightly taken aback; no one ever usually thought to bring a wine or something of the like when attending his dinners. He examined the bottle and was impressed. He had been meaning to pick up a replacement of this exact wine for the past week. He smiled a truly genuine smile. "How thoughtful of you, Ms. Chamberlin. This so happens to be one of my more preferred red wines. I shall have to put it to good use!" With that, he ushered her into the sitting room where Will, another gentleman, and two ladies sat quietly discussing. As he escorted her to the sitting room, he couldn't help but marvel at her appearance. His eyes traced the tanned column of her neck, subtly admiring her profile. She screamed elegance. It was clear that she had put both time and effort into her look for this night, and Hannibal felt a small surge of gratitude.

"Let me introduce you to the rest of my guests. You're already familiar with Will, of course." Emma turned from Lecter to Graham, greeting him with a bright smile and light wave. Will smiled somewhat awkwardly back, although one look in his eyes told Emma that he was very much glad to see her in attendance. Lecter turned to the ladies sitting on the couch opposite him. "The brunette is Dr. Alana Bloom; she is a colleague and assists the FBI much as I do with psychological evaluations and profiles. Alana, this is Ms. Emma Chamberlin, a patient of mine." Emma greeted Alana with a gentle handshake and a sheepish smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Bloom."

"Oh, please call me Alana. No need for such formalities," she said with a gracious smile.

Lecter faced Emma again, this time directing her attention to the woman beside Alana. "This is Ms. Freddie Lounds. She's a journalist for Tattle Crime, and this is her first time at my home as well." With this introduction, Emma had noticed Hannibal stiffen slightly. As she greeted the woman the same way she did Alana, Emma studied her. The woman gave off dishonesty and duplicity in waves. With a mental note to herself to keep a wary eye on Ms. Lounds, she turned back to Hannibal for the last of the introductions.

"And this gentleman is Special Agent Jack Crawford. He is in charge of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, and is another colleague."

Emma stepped up the rather imposing man, putting all of her mental strength into maintaining eye contact and a kind smile as she extended her hand to him. His eyes gentled as he accepted her hand, shaking it firmly.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Chamberlin."

"You as well, Agent Crawford. Please call me Emma."

"Alright, Emma," said Crawford with a small smile.

With a smile in return, Emma turned her gaze to Hannibal, waiting for direction.

"If you'd like, you may stay in here with the other guests and converse; dinner should be ready in about ten minutes."

Emma nodded, thanking him kindly, before walking to an empty chair next to Will. With Hannibal out of the room, Will was her social safety net. She felt better sticking close to someone she had previously met rather than taking her chances on the brand new individuals she knew next to nothing about. As she took a seat, Emma grinned sheepishly up at Will.

"I'm afraid I'm not very good at these sorts of things. Meeting an entire group of new people all at once tends to put me on edge."

Will contemplated her with understanding glistening in his warm eyes, nodding slightly. "I suffer from the same affliction. I tend to have a hard time even with those I am familiar with though as well."

Emma was rather astonished. "Why is that?" she asked with concern. "You're a very kind, likable individual…at least from the impression I received. I usually am pretty skilled with reading people." She lowered her voice so that only Will could hear. "Take Ms. Lounds for example. She makes me uneasy. Is that an unfair assessment, or should I be wary?" asked Emma with worry. "I don't want to judge hastily, especially when it is unfounded."

Graham laughed coldly. "Ms. Lounds is a piece of work. She has weaved an elaborate tale questioning my sanity and my competency to perform my job. She's slippery; watch what you say around her. She will twist just about anything you say into a labyrinth of intricate lies, each facet proving more damaging than the last . I can only imagine the amount of times she has been sued for libel," muttered Will.

Emma's eyes widened fractionally. "I appreciate the warning, Will, thank you." Before Emma could continue the conversation, she heard one of the women address her; it was the one Hannibal had introduced to her as Alana.

"So, Emma, Hannibal said you were a patient of his?"

Emma brushed her bangs out of her eye, saying, "Yes I am. I only just recently moved to Baltimore and Dr. Lecter was the psychiatrist that my colleagues recommended to me. I have to say, his intellect proves to be a smidge intimidating."

Alana smiled warmly at her. "Yes, Hannibal can do that on occasion. What's your occupation, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I work at the art museum here in the city. I identify, date, and authenticate artworks. I have actually just recently been endowed with the task of arranging the next exhibition." Emma's eyes sparkled with excitement. "We're due to receive a shipment of new artifacts from Egypt in the coming weeks. I'm counting the days," said Emma with a giggle.

Hannibal had arrived to inform his guests that dinner was ready, but halted just outside the doorframe when he heard Emma speaking with such enthusiasm. _Her anxious nature disappears entirely when discussing her work; fascinating. _He observed how she sat on the edge of her seat in order to bring herself closer to her captivated audience, gesticulating widely with a grin stretching from ear to ear, her warm brown eyes sparkling as her voice filled with passion. In this moment, she was the epitome of magnificence to him. Loathe as he was to interrupt, it would not do for dinner to get cold.

As he entered the room, Emma glanced up, meeting his gaze, and immediately silenced herself with an apologetic smile. "My apologies, Doctor. I got so caught up in describing a new exhibition I'm to be organizing."

Dr. Lecter clasped his hands behind his back, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. "No apology necessary, Emma. I just came to inform you all that dinner is served. If you all will follow me, I'll show you to your seats."

The group stood simultaneously, filing out in a neat single file line. Emma exited in front of Will, drifting behind the others as they emerged into an open, inviting room complete with an elaborately set dining table. As Hannibal ushered each person to their appropriate seat, Emma let her eyes wander. The floor paneling was a luxurious mahogany, which matched the large table at the center of the room. A stunning piece of artistry hung on the impeccably painted wall, and it took much of Emma's self-control to not amble over and fawn over the work. Lecter showed her to her seat, and seeing where she was to sit, Emma mentally sighed in relief. The doctor noticed her visibly relax when shown her seat, which was to be right between Will and Lecter himself. Crawford was to sit on Lecter's other side next to Ms. Lounds, with Alana sitting on Will's.

As his guests took their seats, Lecter exited the room to grab the first set of plates. He returned with one in each hand, and one resting on his forearm. He placed the dishes in front of Alana, Will, and Emma.

"This is a seared lamb loin with sautéed peppers and onions and rosemary finishing oil."

Emma was in awe at the sight of her plate. She shouldn't have been surprised; she knew nothing the doctor did would be mediocre or half-assed, but in the few dinner parties she had attended since establishing her career, none had been of this caliber. She thanked god that she had brushed up on gourmet foods the previous afternoon.

Lecter returned with the rest of the plates, setting them down in front of Ms. Lounds, Agent Crawford, and himself. As he was about to seat himself, Ms. Lounds spoke up.

"Dr. Lecter, I hate to be a bother, but you wouldn't happen to have a vegan alternative to this dish, would you? It's just that I don't taint my body with any sort of meat," she said with a condescending smile.

Emma's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe the audacity of this woman. She glanced at Will, trying to gauge how the faux paux registered with him. Seeing a scowl grace his otherwise kindly, if brooding, features, Emma turned her gaze down to her lap. The situation was mortifying, and it didn't even involve her directly. As Emma focused on not blushing as the embarrassment that should have been the redheads drowned her in waves, Hannibal went back to the kitchen to prepare something more suitable to Ms. Lounds' desires.

Agent Crawford noticed Emma's change in behavior. "Emma, are you alright?" he asked with concern.

She barely met his gaze, smiling weakly. "Yes of course, Agent Crawford. Thank you for your concern." She looked back down at her lap, praying that the suffocating cloud of awkwardness would lift. Emma felt a light touch on her shoulder, and looked up to meet Will's worried eyes. The corner of her mouth quirked up into some semblance of a smile as gratitude lit her eyes.

Hannibal returned with a plate of sautéed vegetables for Freddie, setting it down in front of her. As he poured a red wine into glasses for his guests, his eyes fell upon Emma, who was still staring into her lap blushing scarlet, with Will's touch remaining on her bare shoulder. Hannibal's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing the situation. He took in Will's worried expression, and deduced Emma's reaction wasn't caused by anything untoward. Deciding the best way to alleviate her embarrassment would be to start a conversation with his guests and act like Ms. Lounds' outburst hadn't occurred whatsoever, he turned to Agent Crawford.

"How is Bella doing these days, Jack?"

Crawford finished his bite of food, wiping his mouth with the corner of his napkin. "She's doing well, Doctor, thank you for asking. She sends her regards of course."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that she is well. It's a shame she hadn't felt up to joining us this evening. Perhaps another night I'll finally get to meet Mrs. Crawford."

Jack shifted imperceptibly out of discomfort, nodding in agreement. "Yes of course. I'm sure we can work something out for one of these days."

As the conversation between the individuals became more effortless, Emma's discomfiture abated. She sighed with relief. Taking her first bite of food, Emma felt as if her mouth had been showered in an explosion of complementary tastes and textures. She chewed slowly, savoring the tastes. She looked up, meeting Hannibal's gaze with a bright smile.

"Dr. Lecter, this is exquisite. The utilization of orange and thyme in this dish is incredible. I've never tasted anything so delicious!"

Hannibal was impressed. "Ms. Chamberlin, your palate is divine. Not many with such formidable palates have joined me for dinner. With the exception of Dr. Bloom, of course; her palate rivals even the most experienced critics, especially in regards to beer." He sent a good-natured smirk in Alana's direction.

Alana let out a titter of laughter. "I do love my beer," she said with a sly wink and grin.

Emma smiled widely at the interaction. "Thank you for the compliment, Doctor; it means quite a lot coming from you. I never really have the chance to utilize my palate. One of the many reasons I'm incredibly grateful for the invitation for tonight."

"It was my pleasure, Emma. You'll have to join us for the next one as well."

"I'd like that very much, Doctor."

Freddie, having watched the entire interaction with shrewd interest, decided to see if perhaps there was a story worth publishing between the two. She figured the fastest way to do this would be to distress Emma and check Lecter's reaction. She smirked to herself.

"So, Emma, you said you're a patient of Dr. Lecter's. Are you as mentally unstable as Will Graham, or are you just flat-out insane?"

Emma, halfway through a bite of food, froze and paled. After a few seconds, she finished her bite of food without choking and stared wide-eyed at the redhead. "Excuse me?"

Freddie watched her and Dr. Lecter's reactions calculatedly. Lecter was as composed as ever; she'd have to dig harder. "I think we all have a right to know if we're to be subjected to someone psychotic, don't you agree? By the looks of you, I'd say either the crazed stalker sort, or perhaps so emotionally unbalanced you're not only a harm to yourself, but to others as well."

Emma blanched. She set her fork down, placed her hands in her lap, and worried her lip before speaking; she was trying so hard not to lash out at this woman. She kept reminding herself that she was a guest in her psychiatrist's home, and needed to behave like the lady she was dressed as. With a deep, calming breath, she resorted to the techniques her previous psychiatrist had taught her in order to deal with conflict. Once she was thinking logically again, she responded.

"Ms. Lounds, I assure you that you are not in any physical danger whilst near me, nor are I the type to harass, let alone subject someone to unwanted attention like you're suggesting. I appreciate the concern you express for everyone else here, and while you may feel they are well-founded accusations since I am a patient of Dr. Lecter's, do you really think that he would invite someone he thought to be a danger to others into his home?" She gave an apologetic glance to Hannibal, who was observing the exchange between the two women with a hint of a frown on his austere visage.

Freddie openly laughed at Emma, causing the other guests to eye her with even more incredulity. "Oh please, don't play that card. If you're really not a danger to us, then prove it. Why are you seeing Dr. Lecter in the first place?"

Emma flushed violently, looking down and away. "Dr. Lecter, I'm so sorry to cut this evening short, but I feel that you and your guests would have a much more relaxed dinner if I were no longer present. I apologize for my rudeness; I'll make it up to you. If you'll excuse me," said Emma as she rose from the table. She walked quickly away, head down, heels clicking on the mahogany floor. Hannibal rose swiftly, buttoned his suit jacket, and gracefully strode after her.

Will and Jack glared daggers at Freddie, while Alana just looked thoroughly horrified. Freddie picked at her plate, placing another bite into her mouth. With a glance up, she saw their faces. "What?" she asked innocently.

Hannibal caught up to Emma right as she reached the coat rack. "Emma, please do stay. Ms. Lounds is a sycophant, only out to further her own career at the Tattler by reporting on and discrediting anyone who runs in this circle. She uses coercive and sordid methods. Don't let a woman like that gain control over you."

Emma smiled weakly at Hannibal. "Dr. Lecter, I merely chose to leave so as not to embarrass you or myself. I was doing my very best to keep myself in check and act like the lady I try to be, but she was wearing me thin, and fast." He eyed her curiously. Now that he was looking into her usually warm eyes, he saw the unrelenting fire burning in their depths. "Don't worry, I'm not the physically violent type; after my situation, who would be? But I have a sharp, merciless tongue that causes much mutilation to those in its way. I didn't want to humiliate you by slipping and ruining the evening with my lack of control. I'm sorry that it got as out of hand as it did."

This was a new side to Emma, and Hannibal observed it appreciatively. This woman was so multifaceted, so enthralling. She was constantly in flux. Ordinarily she was the epitome of delight and kindheartedness; she was well mannered and genteel. Sometimes she was reminding of the shy, awkward, socially inept individuals that plague middle schools. Hannibal had made the error of assuming that she was merely a kitten, and the most damage her claws could do were scratches reminiscent of paper cuts. Now, however, he saw the predator in her eyes: a merciless, ruthless panther that lay dormant until called upon. He wondered just how far that panther would go to protect itself.

"Ms. Lound's unacceptable behavior at my dinner table is nothing close to your responsibility, Emma. Needless to say Ms. Lounds will not be invited back to my home after tonight. I do wish you would come and join us; dessert is quite the treat, and I think you would very much enjoy it."

With a moment's thought and study of Hannibal's encouraging gaze, Emma concurred. "Alright, Doctor. I'll join you for dessert. Please excuse my rudeness if I blatantly ignore Ms. Lounds' attempts at conversation. I've embarrassed you enough as it is, and would loathe to do so further."

Hannibal smiled warmly at her. "Excellent."

He ghosted a hand over the middle of her back, guiding her back to the dining room. Everyone glanced up as the two returned, Hannibal helping Ms. Chamberlin back into her seat with a murmured "thank you" on her part. As Hannibal seated himself, he addressed his guests with a hard gaze and unrelenting tone.

"Ms. Chamberlin has agreed to grace us with her company for the remainder of the evening. The topic of her treatment is not to be addressed." As he finished his sentence, he directed his gaze at Freddie, driving his point home.

Freddie raised her hands in a relenting fashion.

Dinner and dessert were finished uneventfully, other than the occasional uncomfortable surveillance of Emma by Freddie. Emma got to know Alana a little more, discussing a wide variety of topics with her and Will as they enjoyed the crème brulee. By the end of the courses, Jack Crawford was still somewhat of a mystery to her, but she had the impression that he remained that way for most of the individuals he came into contact with. Everyone was preparing to leave, but with Freddie being the first one out the door, Hannibal invited the rest of them to join him for an after-dinner brandy. Emma and Will accepted the invitation, while Jack insisted he must get home to his wife and Alana had some paperwork to attend to before a pressing engagement in the morning. Both left with heartfelt thanks to Hannibal for having had them, and would see him the next day for a case briefing.

Hannibal led the remaining two guests into the sitting room, gesturing that they should seat themselves in either one of the large black leather chairs or the couch of matching material as he poured the brandy out of its decanter. Emma sat herself on the right end of the cool, sleek sofa, Will in the chair facing her. Hannibal handed a glass each to Emma and Will, snagged his own, and seated himself in the chair between the two. All three took sips of the warming liquid. Emma hadn't indulged since she moved to Baltimore, and reveled in the fiery feel of the brandy sliding down the back of her throat, settling itself deep in her belly. She closed her eyes as she savored the seductive sensation.

Both Hannibal and Will observed her reaction to the liquid, each captivated by how thoroughly she experiences every miniscule thing that interacts with her. Both wondered how she perceives such things; were the drops of alcohol forming constellations of burning suggestion on her tongue, or was the experience something else altogether to her? Hannibal glanced at Will and saw a peculiar fondness lighting his eyes as Will looked upon Emma. This piqued Hannibal's interest; he'd have to find out what exactly Will was feeling for his patient.

Hannibal crossed his legs, swirling the brandy in his glass. "I apologize for Ms. Lounds' untoward behavior. She has very little tact. I do believe this will be the last time I extend a dinner invitation to her."

Will scowled, heady dislike swirling in the depths of his blue eyes like a hurricane. "Freddie Lounds is a menace, and a disgrace to her profession. You'd think she'd have more pressing matters to report on instead of the mental state of your guests, Hannibal."

Emma observed the two casually, crossing her legs gracefully as she took another swig from the glass. "I get the impression it was more than that. She was looking for a reaction, but not just any reaction, a specific one. It was like I was bait…but bait for what?" She murmured the last sentence to herself, eyes glazing over and brow furrowing as she contemplated the situation.

Hannibal leaned back in his seat, pondering Emma's statement. He had noticed the same thing, and was rather astounded that she had picked up on it as well. Apparently she was quite adept at reading people; this made him wonder if she had any perceptions regarding his extracurricular activities.

He had a feeling he knew what Ms. Lounds' next article would focus on, and was rather curious as to how Emma would react to such speculation. He was sure he would hear about it at her session on Tuesday. As he wrapped up his train of thought, he heard Will speak again.

"Emma, I wanted to thank you again for your assistance on the case. I was curious as to if you had any artistic insights as to why the killer would choose this particular painting to recreate in stages? I have my own theory, of course, but I'd like to see if they match up."

Emma leaned back on the couch, cradling her glass close to her chest as she rested a finely polished nail against her full lower lip in contemplation. "Well as you know, the painting is of a miracle performed by St. Mark, as told in the 'Golden Legend.' The story goes that a 'servant' of a Knight of Provence in France was sentenced to be punished for leaving without permission and travelling to Venice for a pilgrimage to St. Mark's relics. When he returned, the Knight ordered his 'other servants' to exact punishment on the disobedient servant, specifically through the gauging out of his eyes, hacking away of his thighs, skewering him with rods, and knocking his teeth out. Rather brutal stuff," Emma mused sardonically. "Anyway, as the other servants tried to carry out the punishment, none of the tools would bring harm to the man. At least, that's how the story goes.

"Regarding the painting itself, it's obvious the artist's goal was to incorporate the admirer into the work, as if he or she were observing the events first hand. Now the way St. Mark was depicted actually caused some raucous disapproval at the time. The fact that the saint had his back turned and was depicted as falling was not seen as a positive image. Seeing as the killer recreated this image first, I'm rather confused. If it had been the miracle itself occurring, I could see the killer likening themselves to St. Mark; rescuing the victim from the tortures of man, and making themselves someone powerful and holy, if you will. But the fact that the killer depicted the saint first… now, that says something altogether different. Perhaps the killer feels as if he or she is a victim of the cruelty of his fellow man and is recreating St. Mark to come and rescue him? Maybe…maybe he regrets some action in his life, so he depicted St. Mark coming down to perform the miracle as if on he? But that makes no sense, because obviously he's not going to get into the heaven he imagines is waiting for him now that he's murdered someone and used her body as his own personal craft store." She snorted. "Honestly, I find it vexing. I just can't quite make it all fit neatly together."

Will was once more slack-jawed at the amount of knowledge and intelligence Emma possessed. Her intuition was astounding as well; he had reached similar conclusions, but had only voiced his theories thus far to Jack Crawford. "That was…that was incredible, Emma. I was of similar mind to your former theory; I think he likens himself to the servant depicted in the painting, and feels that he has been unjustly persecuted for some act he has committed. He wants the saint to grant him this miracle. The next crime scene should tell us more."

Hannibal regarded the pair with rapt attention; he was intrigued by Emma now more than ever. The woman was full of mysteries and inscrutabilities, and the more that were presented the more Hannibal wanted to dissect her mental processes. People with her combination of disorders were never dull to treat, and this evening altogether made him consider that it would be quite something to pursue knowing her in private life.

After winding down the evening with idle chat and emptied brandy glasses, Emma rose, pulling her dress down as she did so; the clinging fabric had ridden up due to her crossed legs. Both men's eyes flickered to her long, lean legs. "I'm afraid I must be getting home, gentlemen. I have to start preparations on the new Egyptian exhibit tomorrow much earlier than I would have deemed necessary," said Emma with a slightly bitter tone and a wrinkle of her pert nose.

Hannibal stood as well. "Let me walk you to the door."

"Thank you, Doctor."

He placed a gentle hand on her back, guiding her to the coat rack that was further up the hall and in the foyer. Hannibal pulled her coat down for her and helped her into it. As she shrugged her shoulders into the wool coat, she turned back around to face him.

"I can't thank you enough for inviting me to your home for dinner tonight, Dr. Lecter. I had a marvelous time. And since I'm sure Ms. Lounds didn't apologize, let me once again express my contrition for both her and my behavior. Please let me know if there is some way I can make up for the rudeness that was exhibited on both of our parts." Emma's doe eyes brimmed with concern and apology, taking him once again by surprise at how strongly she felt emotion. He opened the heavy oak door for her, joining her on the porch. As she stepped further outside, she turned back to him.

He smiled softly at Emma, grasping her shoulders lightly. "Ms. Chamberlin, there is no need for apology on your part. You were perfectly civil to Ms. Lounds, and I appreciate the effort that must have taken," he said with a chuckle. He removed his hands from her shoulders with a slight squeeze.

Emma giggled at the implication of his statement. "I'll see you on Tuesday, Dr. Lecter. Thank you again for everything." She smiled shyly at him before proceeding down to her car. As both the car door of Ms. Chamberlin and the front door of Dr. Lecter closed, a head of long, curly, red hair emerged from behind a tree, camera in hand and a smirk on her face.


	4. Chapter 4

Emma jogged up the steps to the museum, cursing under her breath at the height of heel she had chosen to wear that day. The black pumps matched her sleek dress perfectly, but they were wreaking havoc on her size 7 feet. As she threw open the heavy glass doors and rushed along the granite tiled floor, she glanced down at the files in hand. They all consisted of the new objects that were to be debuted at the museum, and Emma was anxious to see them in person. She had an idea for the layout of the pieces in what she hoped would be a fantastic exhibition, but she wouldn't be entirely sure until she saw the pieces up close.

As she rounded a corner rather sharply, she collided with an unsuspecting patron. Emma's files exploded from her arms, single pages fluttering to the floor in a storm of paper and folders. With a quiet "Shit!" Emma bent down to collect her vast array of paperwork. "I'm so sorry, sir, please forgive my klutziness. I'm afraid it's been an off day." She glanced up with a remorseful gaze, to find the well-dressed man scowling at her.

"Watch where you're going, you little bitch! I swear to god, there isn't a single competent person who works here!"

Emma was taken aback, and as she righted herself she frowned. "I said I was sorry, sir, I'm not sure there's anything more I can do to rectify the situation."

He sneered at her; his eyes studied her more closely. "You look awfully familiar. Or maybe it's just the slutty way you're dressed. Is that why you collided with me? Hoping to start a conversation so you can get a little action? Do you charge the same rate as you do in the red light district, or do you up the prices when you're around Baltimore's elite?"

Emma's mouth gaped in horror. "Excuse me? I don't know you, and the way you're speaking to me is completely unnecessary. I'd appreciate it if you'd leave the premises. Immediately."

"I believe you heard the lady."

Emma whipped around, only to find an impeccably dressed Dr. Lecter towering over her. She met his gaze, and automatically wished she hadn't. While his expression remained cordial and unreadable as ever, his eyes told a different tale. On the surface, they matched his face; polite yet reserved. With slightly more effort, Emma saw maroon eyes burning with a predatory fire, as if urging the man to give him cause to let that torrid emotion out and inflict severe misery to the man in question. Emma shivered lightly at the thought. With a start, she realized the two men had carried on a conversation while she had been lost in Hannibal's eyes, and spinning around to face the other, she saw him extending a card-holding hand to Lecter.

As the man walked away, Emma quickly shook her head, bringing her back to the present. "Dr. Lecter, what a pleasant surprise! I regret that you had to be witness to that; actually I seem to just be full of apologies this morning," said Emma with a light laugh. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Lecter smiled down at the petite woman, taking in her professional attire and loose chignon. Big brown eyes gazed up at him with delight. "Ms. Chamberlin, since I've met you, you've profusely apologized for others' behavior, and unnecessarily for your own; I am not the least bit amazed that you do so this morning as well," he said with a wry smile. Emma blushed, glancing down and back up to the doctor. He placed his hand imperceptibly in the middle of her back, leading her to a bench in the rotunda. He gestured for her to sit, seating himself next to her on the small, sturdy bench. "I'm afraid my visit isn't purely social; there was a reason I came to see you this morning." As he spoke, he lifted a brown leather briefcase that she hadn't noticed before onto his lap, opening it with a nimble flick of his wrist. He pulled out his tablet, opened it, and presented it to her.

Emma took the tablet as she met Hannibal's gaze with a curious look, and glanced down at the pristine screen. In blaring red letters read, "PROMINENT PSYCHIATRIST SEDUCED BY UNSTABLE HARLOT," printed boldly as the headline to the front page of The Tattler. Emma gasped, right hand flying to her red-stained mouth. She scrutinized the accompanying picture of her and her psychiatrist looking _very _friendly on the porch of his home. From an outsider's perspective, it looked convincing indeed; Dr. Lecter's hands grasping her shoulders tenderly, she standing a little too close for what was appropriate in a professional relationship, and what sealed the deal was the look they exchanged. In shock, Emma handed the tablet back to Dr. Lecter, eyes wide with contrition.

"According to this crafty article forged by Ms. Lounds, ever since our first session you have been trying to seduce your way into my bed. I must commend Ms. Lounds; she had the ability to turn even the most polite touches into something bordering on tawdry. She goes on to speculate about your mental health in a particularly unflattering way," said Lecter with a frown.

At the mention of who had written the piece, Emma's hands clenched and skin flushed. With a tight voice, she said, "That woman is a piece of work. Perhaps I should pay her a visit later and set her straight." Her nostrils flared as she huffed in anger, trying to calm herself with deep breaths.

Lecter laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, tilting his head to catch her gaze. "Emma, I can assure you that your newfound acquaintanceships will not perish from the lies spun by Ms. Lounds, nor will your employment be endangered."

She deflated, looking at him with pure confusion etched on her face. "Doctor, you misunderstand me; my concern isn't for my own reputation, it's for yours."

Hannibal's eyebrows arched imperceptibly in mild astonishment; that was not what he had expected her to say whatsoever. He had been convinced that her reaction would be due to the fact that Ms. Lounds had tarnished Emma's fledgling reputation here in Baltimore by painting her as promiscuous and insane. Instead, her concern was only for him.

"Dr. Lecter, you have worked so hard to establish a flawless reputation; people trust you with their deepest secrets and darkest desires. In one fowl swoop I have managed to tarnish it by Lounds suggesting that there was anything untoward happening between us." She dropped her eyes to study her hands in her lap. "This article is atrocious. Not only is she implying that you are taking advantage of a patient/psychiatrist relationship, but she's stooping so low as to imply that you are associating with a promiscuous, licentious woman. No soul that can claim to know you would believe that for a second. I just hope everyone else doesn't take Lounds at her word."

Hannibal locked eyes with her and studied her intently. "You aren't at all concerned about how others in town will perceive you, especially with you being such a recent addition to Baltimore?"

She smiled gently at him. "Doctor, I have been called much worse in my life than an 'unstable harlot.' The only people I've even conversed with at length are friends and associates of yours or people who work here with me. Since you are a regular patron of the museum I'm sure my coworkers won't think any less of me, and since my boss undoubtedly knows what type of man you are, I have no concern about my job." She smirked. "It doesn't hurt that I'm too damn good at it to boot."

Hannibal chuckled, crossing his legs. "You make valid points, Emma. But rest assured that I have no concern regarding the state of my reputation in this city, nor should you. I appreciate wholeheartedly the selflessness of your concern," he said with a small smile.

She grinned back. "I'll try not to fret over it, then." Tucking a stray piece of hair back out of her face, Emma sighed. "Is Ms. Lounds always this problematic? Or is pissing her off just a talent I seem to possess?"

Hannibal leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. "Ms. Lounds is rather like a mosquito: parasitic and always accompanied by a dull whine." Emma snickered at the comparison. "The best you can do is just swat her away and not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her vain attempts at mischief. She enjoys targeting those associated with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Since you were a guest at my home along with Will, Alana, and Jack, and are seeing me for therapy, you were the perfect target for her libelous journalism."

"Good thing I have a thick skin, then," murmured Emma. "I'll do my best to not let her writing bother me." She paused, considering, before speaking slowly. "Since you're here anyway, would you like to see the new pieces we just received? I'm technically not supposed to show the public before the exhibition, but I honestly can't contain myself," she giggled.

A good-natured smile pulled at the corners of the doctor's mouth as he nodded his head in assent. "I would enjoy that immensely. I don't have an appointment scheduled until this afternoon, so I have the time to spare."

With a wide grin, Emma leapt up from the wooden bench, gathering her files into her arms. She seemed to vibrate with anticipation, anxiously leading him down the hallway she had previously been heading before the 52-file pickup had occurred. Her eyes glistened with eagerness, doubling her speed as they reached a frosted glass door near the end of the hallway. She threw it open, holding it with her back for the doctor to enter first.

She practically ran across the room, dumping the files on a modern, black desk and loped to the double doors at the back of the sparse room. She entered a four-digit passcode and opened the door enthusiastically. Gesturing wildly for Lecter to follow, she strode into the massive storage room, stood in the middle, and held her arms out wide. "Dr. Lecter, may I present the newest pride and joy of the Baltimore museum."

From wall to wall, the room was swathed in Egyptian artifacts. Statues, sarcophagi, carvings, and canopic jars gleamed under the high fluorescent lighting. Hannibal slowly made his way around the room, admiring each piece as he passed; some made him wonder how the archaeologists got them cleared through Customs. As he progressed through the room, he noticed that the pieces were already arranged by period and category. There was a beautiful flow to the layout of the pieces, reminiscent of being eased along down a river with a slow, easy current.

Emma scrutinized the doctor as he made his way through the preliminary set-up of her exhibit, nervously watching his body language, trying to decipher what he truly thought of the pieces. As he reached the last of the carvings, he turned to face her. A gleam of pleasure and approval lit his eyes as he nodded his head thoughtfully.

"These pieces are magnificent. You managed to procure such a vast array of pieces from each period, and it is in all honesty rather impressive. The preliminary set-up of the artifacts is quite literally moving; I found myself pushed along, eager to lay eyes upon the next relic. You will astound anyone with an ounce of artistic appreciation with this exhibit, Emma, I assure you," said Hannibal with a smile.

Emma beamed at him, thoroughly flattered. The boss had provided similar feedback regarding the pieces she had procured, but for some unknown reason the compliments were much more satisfying coming from her psychiatrist. "Thank you so much, Dr. Lecter. It means a lot to me that you find even the initial stages of the exhibit moving. Hardly anyone in my department has the same level of appreciation I have for these things, and showing you these pieces has been so much more fulfilling than their reactions, let me tell you," said Emma as she wandered through the artifacts, left hand lightly grazing the pedestals they rested on.

Hannibal clasped his hands behind his back, watching her progress through the room. "When is the exhibit set to open to the public?"

Emma reached his side, observing the piece in front of her as she pondered. "Well, I have a month's leeway to work with, but I was thinking I'd push for a debut in two weeks instead," she smirked. "Let's just hope I can get enough publicity for it. I still have to ask my boss who we usually go to in order to make those huge banners for the front of the museum to advertise the upcoming exhibits." She worried her bottom lip, turning her doe eyes to Hannibal. "I really should make a note of that."

She led him out of the room and walked to her desk, pulling open a nondescript drawer and retrieving a stack of blue sticky notes and a black fountain pen. She scrawled a note to herself in elegant, if hurried, writing, and stuck it to the front of her iMac. As she did so, one of her colleagues entered briskly, halting abruptly at the sight of the two at Emma's desk. Emma looked up and smiled brightly. "Hi, Johanna!"

Johanna responded with a curt nod, grabbed a file off her own desk, and marched out of the room. Emma stared after her quizzically. She turned back to Lecter, confusion pulling at her features. "How odd; Johanna is always incredibly warm to me. I wonder what that was all about."

She gestured that he sit in her plush, leather, office chair, while Emma herself hopped up onto the further corner of her desk, crossing her legs. Hannibal seated himself with a nod of thanks. "She is the woman who recommended my services to you, no doubt?"

With a bewildered expression, Emma muttered, "Yeah, she was the one. Just on Friday she was asking me how the appointments were going! I don't understand what could have changed so drastically between then and now."

With a barely audible sigh and a crossing of his long legs, Hannibal murmured, "I believe I might know the cause. When Ms. Summers was seeing me, she formed an attachment of sorts. Our interactions ended with her therapy, excluding the occasional conversations when I would visit the opening of a new display here at the museum. No doubt she saw this morning's headline and is exhibiting a jealousy of sorts." Incredulous brown eyes met solicitous maroon ones.

"I wonder how many of my coworkers are now going to be under the impression that I'm an immoral, crazy lady," she sighed to herself. "Well, she was the one who warned me about falling for you. I'd like to think I'd have the good sense to end a professional relationship if my emotions became an impairment." She tugged the front of her dress decisively, head held high. She turned her gaze to meet the doctor's, a sly smile pulling the corners of her mouth up and mischief dancing in her eyes. "Although if anything I'm extremely flattered that they would consider for an instant I could win your attention and affections. After all, you're quite the catch, Dr. Lecter." She winked and laughed, grinning broadly at him.

He smiled back humorously, chuckling along with her. "The sentiment is much appreciated, Emma, thank you."

"You're quite welcome, Dr. Lecter, but it is just fact. If a woman wasn't attracted to you in one way or another, I'd question her sanity." She kicked her legs back and forth, catching them right before they would thud against the desk.

Hannibal analyzed her expression, curiously asking, "Are you attracted to me, Emma?"

Emma stopped swinging her legs, turning her torso to face him with a smile. "Dr. Lecter, I'd be blind to not find aspects of you objectively attractive. You're a handsome, cultured man with unparalleled manners. I'd be a fool to not be enticed by you. Plus, you cook at a standard I had never had the pleasure of experiencing before, and that alone is hitting the lottery. But you need not worry, I'd never jeopardize a friendship and professional relationship with you by allowing emotion to take route in what is currently simple objective observations. I'm simply stating that you could have your choice of women; I daresay they're probably forming a queue," she said with a snicker.

He regarded her with pleasant surprise. She was not as intimidated by him as other women usually were, and felt comfortable enough with him to express such perceptions knowing that he would understand exactly how she meant them. Another emotion stirred in his gut; each time he was around her, this pestering sensation made itself known, and was growing more resilient with each interaction. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that it was budding attraction to the woman before him. Given time, it would either pass or demand to be acted on; he would reevaluate when that time came.

She hopped up off the desk, straightening out her dress as she did so. "Would you like to grab an early lunch, Doctor? It's going on 11:30, and I skipped breakfast this morning. Of course if you have other plans, I certainly understand," she said courteously.

Hannibal stood alongside her. "I have an hour before I need to head back to the office. Would you care to dine at my home? I usually prepare my own lunches."

Emma grinned. "If you aren't careful, sir, I'm going to become addicted to your cooking. But yes, I would love to enjoy your cooking once again. Let me just check my email really quickly and grab my bag."

She plopped herself down in her chair, kicking it over to her computer and crisply typing in the login information the computer requested. Her fingers flew nimbly over the keyboard, pulling up her email effortlessly. Hannibal took this time to check his messages on his phone, scrolling deftly. He glanced up to check Emma's progress, only to see that her face was entirely void of color. Walking swiftly over to her, he crouched down and swung the chair so that she faced him.

"Emma, what's wrong?"

She merely pointed at the screen, where an open email with no return address was displayed. His eyes scanned the email rapidly, taking in the message. In towering block letters, it read "**_Blood is red, asphyxiation is blue, heading to Baltimore, I'm gonna find you_**."


	5. Chapter 5

Emma was rattled. She stood jerkily from her chair and began to pace. She ran her hand over her face, trying not to cry, and let out a shaky breath which drew Hannibal's gaze from the screen to her petrified eyes. She stopped pacing and stood stock still. A lone tear dragged itself down her flushed cheek, and was wiped away angrily and impatiently by Emma. She was ashamed that she was allowing herself to fall apart in front of Dr. Lecter when minutes before they had been carrying on wonderfully. She broke eye contact and looked upwards as she desperately fought to regain control. Hannibal righted himself and walked slowly to where she stood, and once she met his eyes again, he enveloped her in a comforting embrace. Wrapping his strong arms around her petite frame, he held her close, running a hand over her hair and cradling her head gently.

She bit her fist as she attempted to keep from staining his suit jacket with more tears. "I thought I had gotten away from this, from the death threats, from fearing for my life. I managed three whole weeks without any of this; why is it starting again now?!"

Hannibal swayed gently with her, soothing her. "It was only a matter of time before he sought you out again, Emma. Manipulative, unstable men such as he become obsessed with the people they abuse; they don't let go without a fight. The fact that this email came today after an article depicting the two of us as involved is either very telling or a bizarre coincidence."

With that, all remaining color left Emma's face. She pulled away, a look of absolute horror marring her pretty face. "Oh my god. Dr. Lecter, you can't be my psychiatrist anymore. I can't have you put in danger by associating with me. You've been so kind to me, and I adore our blossoming friendship more than you know, but I can't put you at risk like that. Maybe if you cut all ties with me, he'll leave you alone and just go after me."

Darkness rolled over Hannibal's face, collecting in the depths of his maroon eyes. He pulled her back to him, flexing his arms around her protectively. "There will be no need of that, Ms. Chamberlin, I assure you. You will require someone to assist you in this trying time, and I do not abandon patients; but I especially do not abandon friends."

She turned her head slightly, gazing at him from underneath thick eyelashes, observing the firmness in his expression and the quiet rage in his eyes, before laying her head against his formidable chest. "Thank you, Dr. Lecter."

He looked down at her, the left corner of his mouth turning up into some semblance of a smile. "I do believe you have very much earned the right to address me as Hannibal, Emma. Now, let me fix you something for lunch. We can take my car."

Emma took a moment to gather herself before she took a step back out of Hannibal's embrace. Her mouth pulled up into a watery smile, her left hand ghosting over his arm in thanks as she walked past to grab her purse. She wiped away another stray tear before it had the chance to leave her eye completely, and strode back over to Hannibal. He extended his arm to her, indicating she should thread hers through the opening and rest her hand in the crook of his arm; she did so, and they proceeded down the hallway.

As he led her through the museum's marbled rotunda, she heard vague whispers winding through the air, jumbling together and forming a tornado of gossip. She held her head high, walking confidently alongside Hannibal, meeting his concerned gaze with an unbothered one of her own. He felt a surge of pride; moments ago she had been a frightened wreck, and now, in the face of snide remarks and cruel whispers, she held herself with the bearing of a duchess. The selflessness of her nature struck him once again, and he found that nagging emotion that was becoming his constant companion mounting in strength.

He opened the glass door for her before stepping out behind her, proceeding down the concrete steps to the parking lot. He popped open the passenger side door, helped Emma in, and snapped it shut behind her before heading around to the driver's side door.

The luxurious vehicle started smoothly with a swift turn of the glistening key and a thrumming purr that resounded throughout the lush leather interior. Fifteen minutes later, the two were striding up to Hannibal's front door, entering, and working their way down the hall to his spacious kitchen.

He gestured that she seat herself in the chair in the corner while he removed his black suit jacket, tied an apron around his firm waist, and gathered his ingredients to make their lunch. She acquiesced, setting her purse down beside her, crossing her lean legs, and leaning forward to rest her forearms on the right arm of the chair.

"I would offer to assist you, but I wouldn't dare dream of imposing on a man in his element," said Emma with a good-natured smirk.

The corner of his mouth turning up, Hannibal looked up at her as he chopped a wide variety of fruits into bite-sized chunks. "I find cooking to be a relaxing hobby. I also prefer to know what is entering my body and of what quality. I'm rather selective." He smiled affably at her.

She grinned at him, adjusting the edge of her dress. "You do strike me as the type to take pride in all you do, whether that is psychiatry, cooking, or consulting the FBI."

"That is a sound analysis, Ms. Chamberlin. I take care that everything I surround myself with and do myself are of the highest caliber. One should take pride in their abilities and livelihood, should they not?" he asked as he carved up slices of "chicken" to sear.

"Indeed they should. Just remind me to never invite you over for what I consider dinner," she laughed.

Hannibal proceeded to cook the "chicken" to a nice golden brown before removing it from the skillet and placing it on a ceramic plate. Pulling out two china plates, he dished the chicken equally onto the plates, arranging it artistically with the fruit he had chopped up before. He added a mixture of greens under both, and topped it off with a light drizzle of vinaigrette.

He gestured for Emma to follow him into the dining room, where he placed the dishes before going back in and retrieving silverware and two wine glasses. Grabbing a nice bottle of white wine that would pair beautifully with the dish, Hannibal uncorked it and poured a small amount into the waiting glasses.

He helped Emma into her chair before settling himself into the seat next to her. Thanking him, she took a bite of the meal. "Dr. Lecter, if I didn't know better I'd fancy you magical; this is exquisite!"

"Thank you, Emma; I'm glad you're enjoying it. I also believe we are on a first name basis now," he chided gently.

Blushing a soft pink, Emma skewered a strawberry, piece of spinach, and bite of chicken. "Of course, my apologies. It will definitely take some getting accustomed to." She popped the forkful into her mouth, savoring the blending of flavors across her tongue. "I meant to ask, how is the case coming?"

Right as Hannibal opened his mouth to reply, his cell phone rang merrily. He retrieved it from his pants pocket, glancing at the caller ID. He turned to Emma, gesturing to the phone. "It's Will; do you mind terribly?"

"Not at all! I'll just excuse myself while you take the call." She made to get up, but Hannibal shook his head, motioning for her to stay as he answered Will's phone call.

"Hello, Will."

Emma proceeded to take a sip of her wine, discreetly watching Hannibal's face as he listened intently to what Will had to say. "I'm currently entertaining, but I can make it there in 40 minutes." He frowned slightly, eyebrows furrowing. "Yes, she's here with me as we speak."

A barely raised eyebrow. "I made a stop at the museum to explain to her the article and Ms. Lounds' knack for spreading gossip and libelous articles. By the time we were finished at the museum, it was lunch time so I invited Ms. Chamberlin to my home. Did you need to speak with her?"

A quizzical look flashed across Hannibal's face at whatever Will had to say. "Where?"

"Yes, we can be there in a half hour. I'll cancel my next appointment; Franklin isn't a critical case and saw me two days ago as it is. I'll give you a call when we're on our way."

Hannibal snapped his phone shut, studying Emma with a measure of curious apprehension burning in his maroon eyes. "Emma, how would you feel about visiting a crime scene? The killer left another display, and Will would like your point of view as well."

Emma's eyes darted up, locking on his. "He wants me there? He's sure?"

Hannibal's eyes softened as he kindly said, "Emma, you're a brilliant scholar in this regard. You can offer unparalleled insight. I'll be there as well to assist, so you shall have both Will and myself there to accompany you."

Emma took a sip of her wine, placing the glass down carefully as she said, "I would like to assist in any way I can. Ms. Lounds won't be there, will she?"

Another raised eyebrow. "It's hard to say; Ms. Lounds seems to have a knack for finding the crime scenes we are occupying. Are you worried about a confrontation?"

Emma laughed darkly. "That's the classy way of phrasing it. I was going to say something more along the lines of, 'I'm worried I might punch her in her face.'"

Hannibal picked up his wine glass, smirking discreetly. "I believe Will shares the sentiment. If she does happen to be in attendance, I shall do my best to engage you in the analysis. Does that sound agreeable?"

Emma flashed a smile, nodding her head. "That would be much appreciated, thank you. I would hate to be an embarrassment to both you and Will; I also would rather detest having this be both the first and last time I am invited to aid the FBI at a crime scene."

"I can empathize with the situation entirely. Now, let's finish up our meal and we can head over to the most recent kill."

Ten minutes later, both plates were empty and placed in the sink to be taken care of later. Hannibal grabbed a coat, held the front door open for Emma, and proceeded to the car. He repeated his earlier actions of helping her with her door before seating himself, starting the car, and beginning the drive to an area just on the outskirts of Baltimore.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled off a dirt road and parked in a makeshift lot. Emergency vehicles, several police cars, and two vans were parked haphazardly around the large area that was taped off in large yellow bands designating it a crime scene. Emma opened the door, taking in her surroundings with awe. Lights flashed red and blue, hypnotizing her. She wandered forward, stopping at the tape.

So lost in thought was she that the firm tap on her shoulder made her jump. "Yes?"

A gruff-looking policeman scowled at her. "I said, do you have permission to be here?"

"She is assisting Will Graham. He called and asked for us both," Hannibal said as he walked up behind her.

The man sighed. "Just a minute."

As he headed over to where Will stood talking to Jack Crawford, Emma turned to face Hannibal. "Thank you. I got so caught up in the environment I seemed to completely tune him out."

Hannibal smiled. "It's natural to prioritize stimuli in such an atmosphere. I myself had a similar experience my first time. Think nothing of it."

She smiled warmly up at him, noticing once again how drastically tall he was now that they were in such close proximity. She heard footsteps approaching, so she wheeled around to face the incomer. Will was making his way to them, giving a sort of terse smile to Emma and a nod to Hannibal. "Come with me. You'll want to prepare yourselves; especially you, Emma."

With each step, Emma steeled her resolve. The trio wove their way round a flurry of police and FBI agents alike, before they finally reached the clearing. That was when Emma got her first look at the kind of grisly artwork she was to be examining. The first thing she noticed was how drastically different the surface the killer had used was from the cliff-side. This time, the lush field speckled with crisp wildflowers served as a canvas, and Emma was struck by the contrast it created. The soft grass against the bloody heap was something to marvel. As Emma approached, everything moved in slow-motion.

Two agents passed by her at what seemed like a snail's pace; the lights in her peripherals slowed exponentially. After what seemed like years, she finally stood before the makeshift artwork. She cocked her head, observing the "piece" curiously. The style on this one was different, but exactly how was slipping just out of her grasp.

Then it hit her: emotion. Everything about this piece screamed tenderness and care. While the other piece had possessed similar levels of time and energy, this one just had something _more. _There was a type of reverence in this that was absent from the other. Everything, from the field he had utilized as a canvas to the pristine lines he had cut in the flesh, sold her on the fact that this piece of the painting he emulated resonated importance with him, but so did the victim. The woman had held some sort of significance to him in life, so he had made sure to use her for the most crucial portion of his masterpiece in death.

She turned to Will and voiced exactly this. Will nodded grimly, assuring her that he had reached the same conclusions. "She was the subject of romantic idealization; most likely not returned, but he coveted her. He gave her the ultimate pedestal in using her flesh to complete his design."

Hannibal crouched down next to the body, taking a closer look. "Not only was she coveted, she was cherished. There is a deep, unnecessary slice in the middle of this piece of flesh, most likely where he slit her throat. He made sure to limit her suffering and give her as painless a death as he could without tampering too heavily with his materials."

That was around the time that a realization hit Emma: the hair and skin color of the victim's matched her own. She thought hard, and it dawned on her that the other victim had similarities as well, although not _quite _as many. It unnerved her. Trying to shake it off, she glanced around the "artwork" and found a large, red spot a few steps away from where she stood. Walking over, she took a closer look. On the ground, blood had been poured into the shape of a heart. Inside, rested E.C. in a congealed, burgundy calligraphy. At that moment, Emma's mind went blank. She stood and walked sluggishly back over to Hannibal, standing closer than normal in hopes that his body heat might chase away the chill she was just drenched in.

He glanced down at her, immediately noticing that she was shaking. Without a second thought, Hannibal shrugged out of his black wool coat and draped it over her hunched shoulders. As the warmth and musk enveloped her in safety, she let out a deep, shaky breath. Concern grew in Hannibal's eyes. "Emma, are you alright?"

She shook her head back and forth slowly, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the tag. Will had observed them with worry and confusion, and he and Hannibal walked to where she had indicated.

Will turned to Hannibal, a fevered light brightening his eyes and disgust shaping his mouth. "Initials. He's addressing the work to someone. That's what this is; a love letter."

That's when everything clicked into place for Hannibal; the initials, the appearances of the women, the story the killer was telling with his murders, and the care with which the recreations were made was all to show an undying, possessive craving for Ms. Emma Chamberlin. Hannibal's eyes darted to a shock-stricken Emma, clutching at his coat like a life vest. Hannibal returned his focus to Will, meeting his eyes, and in that moment they both moved swiftly and urgently toward Emma.

They took a place on either side of her, simultaneously placing a guiding hand on her back to lead her away from the carefully constructed mass of flesh. Once again meeting Hannibal's eyes over the top of Emma's brunette head, he inclined his head in the direction of Jack Crawford. Hannibal nodded once sharply, and the two led Emma over to the agent.

They stopped a few feet away, Will approaching Jack to explain to him the monumental breakthrough they had while Hannibal placed himself in front of Emma, placing both hands on her shoulders and ducking his head to try and catch her eye. "Emma. Emma. Look at me, Emma."

Emma slowly raised her head, dazed eyes locking onto his searching ones. "Yes, Hannibal?"

Despite the dire situation, a small warmth lit Hannibal's maroon eyes at the sound of his name flowing from her soft lips. It dimmed as he noticed she was working on autopilot; she was receptive to stimuli on a very shallow level, and he realized that she was close to slipping entirely into the dark, swirling mass of despair that were the memories of her past relationship that seemed to constantly plague her mind. If he didn't act quickly and infuse her with a dominating emotion, she would slip completely into shock.

Scouring the area, he saw a vibrant mass of tightly coiled red hair peaking around one of the trees near the FBI's vehicles, followed by a rapid succession of clicks from the camera held in her pale hands. While he had told Emma that he would make sure she was kept away from Freddie Lounds, this was the most practical choice to illicit a strong reaction from Emma. It was either that or kiss her, and although he was painfully inquisitive as to how she would react to such an advance, now was neither the time nor the place to indulge such curiosities.

"Emma, I'm sorry to say that Ms. Lounds is here, snapping new photos of not only the crime scene, but of us as well. I'm afraid my coat around your shoulders will once again be construed the wrong way." He watched her eyes carefully, pleased when he noticed them brighten with indignation.

"What? _Why _does she feel the compulsion to twist every kind, gentlemanly gesture into something indecent?!" With that statement, fire burned in Emma's usually soft, warm eyes, and she threw off Hannibal's coat. Handing it to him, she gave him a malicious smile and started marching over to where Freddie stood, resetting her camera.

Hannibal followed behind her at a leisurely pace, coat draped over his forearm; he had no intention of interfering, but wanted to be within distance to assist should Emma require it. If his assessment of her was correct, Emma would be able to hold her own in both verbal and physical altercations. He planned to intervene should things escalate between the women to physical violence, but only because he knew what the perverse Ms. Lounds would do with such material. It simply would not do have Emma behind bars for assault and battery or in such a position where her reputation was smeared with violence and she was laid off from her post at the museum. He rather liked her in charge of the exhibits, as she appealed to his cultural tastes with no effort on her part. With a hint of a smile, Hannibal refocused his attentions on the scene in front of him.

Emma had reached where Freddie Lounds stood, and cleared her throat. Freddie whirled around, a smirk pulling at her deceivingly innocent features. "Well, if it isn't Emma Chamberlin. Did you like my article this morning? I thought I captured quite accurately the interactions between you and Dr. Lecter."

Emma stiffened and glared at the redhead; this woman made her stomach turn. "Ms. Lounds, your article was one fallacy after another. I'd appreciate a retraction, if only for the sake of Dr. Lecter's reputation. You can't seriously think that he would choose to associate himself romantically with a patient," Emma said incredulously.

"I saw what I saw, Emma, and what I witnessed today is even more proof. I mean come on; lingering touches, his coat around your shoulders, you standing just a little _too_ close to him? It screams sexual intimacy," said Freddie with a sly smirk, eyes sparkling with cunning.

Emma clenched her fists, taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her eyes raged with indignation at the insinuation. "I don't believe I gave you the liberty to address me by my first name, Ms. Lounds. Dr. Lecter has been nothing but an outstanding psychiatrist and supportive friend to me over these last few weeks. He would never jeopardize his reputation and career over something as silly as a sexual relationship with me. You know as well as I that he could take his choice among the women that find him attractive, which I'm sure is a very high number indeed. I don't give a _damn _what you write about me, but think twice before you try and leave a black mark on the reputations of my friends."

Freddie flipped her hair behind her shoulder, smiling condescendingly at Emma. "I'm sorry, but I really just don't have it in me to take you seriously, dear. I'll continue publishing what I like. Freedom of the press is a beautiful thing," Freddie expressed with a sigh of happiness.

Emma could feel it; her control was slipping. Fibers were fraying from the grasp she held onto in her mind, and before she knew it she held on to just enough that she could stop herself from assaulting the woman in front of her. She was vibrating with rage. In a clipped tone, Emma said, "Listen here you two-bit, sleazy, incompetent reporter. If I see so much as an insinuation of Dr. Lecter's name in one of the pieces of trash you call an article, you'll be very sorry indeed. I doubt anyone even deigns to bother with the garbage you call journalism, but if you do print his name again, I'll find my way to whatever squalid motel you're hiding out in and beat the sentiment into that frizz-framed head of yours. Do you understand?"

Hannibal, who had heard the entire conversation, raised his eyebrows in surprise. The venom that spewed from Emma's mouth was a wonder in and of itself. She leant a sort of artistic element to her verbal attacks, and Hannibal found it to be beautiful. Her words were sharp and precise, slashing at the victim's essence much like his knives slice at their flesh. She was in her element, and the sight of her was a wonder to behold. With the slight breeze fanning out her dark waves into a fitting frame, her red-painted mouth curled up into a snarl, and dark eyes flashing with danger and rage, she looked very much the part of the vengeful goddess coming to earth to exact revenge on those who had wronged her. It was arousing.

Determining that Emma's self-control was completely taxed, he decided to step in and halt the inevitable blows that were to begin. "Ms. Lounds, I do believe it would be in your best interest to leave the premises before Ms. Chamberlin loses her very admirable self-control. And while I'm sure that this would add a very nice spice to the article you are planning out in your head, may I suggest that it would be wise of you to cease and desist."

With a radiant smile to Dr. Lecter and Emma, Freddie Lounds left. She had what she came for, and so much more. As she walked off, Emma closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm and center herself before conversing with Hannibal. He waited patiently, checking his watch as he did so. A few seconds later, Emma turned to face him with a disappointed look on her face. "So much for all of my progress." She blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes, smiling sheepishly up at Hannibal. "I hope your opinion of me hasn't changed too drastically by what you just witnessed. I guess I should be grateful that you saw that side of me in action; as my therapist, it gives you an insight you normally wouldn't be privy to, and as my friend, you can see what I'm, unfortunately, capable of. I guess I should be grateful you only saw the verbal assault and not the manipulation I'm talented at. That would have very much encouraged you to have our relationship be purely professional I should think," she said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Hannibal gave her a rare genuine smile, eyes filled with warmth as he looked upon her still flushed face. "On the contrary, Emma, I think it held a sort of beauty." Emma's eyes darted up to his, wide in astonishment.

"Really?"

"Truly."

She blushed at the praise, a glowing smile lighting up her features. She opened her mouth, searching for words, before closing it again softly. She settled for conveying her gratitude with her eyes.

"Come; let's go see if Will currently has any more use of us. If not, I'll take you back to the museum." They walked side by side over to where Will stood relaying information to who, if Emma were to hazard a guess, was one of the forensics team.

"Will." Will spun to face Hannibal, eyes creasing with concern as he glanced at Emma.

"We were wondering if you still needed us here or if we were free to go? It's nearly 2:30."

"Actually, I need Ms. Chamberlin to come with me. I need to ask her a few questions." Jack had approached silently behind them, answering Hannibal's question for Will. Will grimaced, Emma blanched, and Hannibal cocked his head at the agent's statement.

"Right this minute?" Emma asked timidly.

Jack's hard gaze softened minutely at her tone. "Yes, I'm afraid so. The sooner we have some answers, the sooner we can solve this case."

Emma processed what he said, nodding her head slowly. She looked up at Hannibal and Will, smiling bravely. "Well, looks like I'll see you two later on. I've got a date with the BAU."

Hannibal took a step forward. "Perhaps I should accompany you."

She smiled warmly up at him. "I couldn't possibly keep you from your patients; you already had to cancel on one as it is! If you were to cancel more just because of me, the public might start to put some faith into Ms. Lounds' libelous writings. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the offer."

Hannibal considered her thoughtfully, scanning his eyes over hers and reading the trepidation and the craving of protection that lie buried in their chocolate depths. He came to the conclusion that a compromise would have to suffice. "Alright, Emma, but please do come by my office afterwards; I usually remain there until 7."

Emma nodded, flashed a brief, weaker smile, and faced Jack again. "Let's get this show on the road, then, Agent Crawford!"

Jack escorted Emma to one of the FBI's vehicles, helped her inside, and snapped the door shut behind her before climbing into the passenger side. Seconds later, they were headed toward FBI headquarters in Quantico.


	6. Chapter 6

Emma stretched; she had been sitting in the unforgiving, cold metal chair for two hours now. Her back ached, and she was emotionally exhausted. When she had arrived, she had thought that she would merely give a brief explanation of how the crime scene involved her; that was not the case. Jack Crawford had demanded every minute detail. Some of his questions she didn't even have answers for. All she wanted was to go home, crawl into bed, and forget that today had ever happened.

That wasn't quite true, though, she thought to herself. The parts of her day spent with Hannibal had been wonderfully pleasant. Despite the rough way her morning had started and the crime scene fiasco, she decided that this had been the best day she'd had in years. As she waited for Jack to return from placing his phone call, she pondered Dr. Lecter. She admitted that he was devilishly charming, cultured, and a Greek god among men. His mind was unparalleled, and he saw the world in a way that fascinated her. He could see right through her in mere seconds whereas people she had known her entire life still couldn't see past the protective wall she hid behind. Despite all of these attractive qualities, they weren't the paramount reason she found herself drawn to him. He exuded a sort of danger, like a panther that lie up on a vine-infused limb; ready to strike at any time if he fancied, or if provoked. This excited her, and lit her curiosity aflame. She wanted to find out what made him tick, what his beliefs were, what he felt his place was in this world. But most importantly, she wanted to be close to him.

The more she thought, the more she realized she might be playing with fire; if she got too close to this man, he could burn her. The question that plagued her though, was would he? For some unfathomable reason, she believed he wouldn't. He'd lend her his warmth, protect her from predators, and keep her safe. But not burn her, never burn her.

Just as she came to this conclusion, the door banged open, causing her to jump. Jack strolled back into the interrogation room, seating himself once again across from her. She carefully rubbed her tired eyes, making sure not to smudge her makeup. "How much longer are you going to keep me here, Agent Crawford? There truly isn't much more to tell you."

Jack frowned as he scrutinized her, pulling a piece of paper from his breast pocket. "Just a while longer, Emma, then we can take you back to the museum to retrieve your car. But before we can do that, I need you to answer just a few more questions. Now you told me you left St. Louis because of this man, and you said he was abusive to you. Explain."

Emma cringed at the question, not wanting to delve into her past without someone there skilled enough to re-center her afterwards. "Would you mind terribly if I came back in tomorrow to answer those questions? My past is a dark one, and while I gave you enough information about Sean to run on, I'd much rather have Dr. Lecter here when I go into Sean's and my joint past. I haven't even gotten into that stuff with Dr. Lecter yet because it's so hard for me to not slip back into mentally dangerous habits when I let down the barricade I've built around those memories."

Jack sighed. "I'd honestly prefer getting these answers today, Emma. Without this knowledge, I can have no idea as to if you're telling me the truth and not just making up this Sean character. I mean face it; you're new to the area, you have unequivocal knowledge about the artwork that was recreated, and your insights into the motive are startlingly accurate. It could easily be you committing these murders."

Emma's eyes widened in alarm. "You don't actually believe that I killed those people, do you?!"

Jack scrutinized her for what seemed like an eternity before he replied carefully. "No, I don't. But I have to look at this from every angle, and it wouldn't be that much of a stretch. However, Will is under the impression that this last murder was a love letter to you, so I'm going to go off of his hunches at the present time. I just can't be left with more questions than answers from you."

Emma looked pleadingly at Jack. "Please Agent Crawford, just let me come back first thing tomorrow and I'll answer any questions you have. Dr. Lecter will be there to guide me through it mentally, and you'll have more information than you'll know what to do with. I've worked long and hard on training myself to think in a healthy way, and to walk in blindly tearing down those walls would be detrimental. I need a professional to assist me in breaking them down and building them back up afterwards."

Jack stood up sharply, gesturing impatiently to the door to his left. "Fine," he snapped. "Come back at 9 am with Hannibal and we'll try again."

Emma stood up breathing a sigh of relief, only to grimace at the soreness in her lower back. She hobbled to the door held open by Jack, her back loosening enough to stand straight as she did so. He led her down to the front doors.

"Agent!" he barked at a random fellow in FBI gear. "Take Ms. Chamberlin back to Baltimore's museum to pick up her car."

"Yes sir!" The agent led Emma to one of the vans, and soon they were on their way to Baltimore.

Some time later, the two pulled up in front of the museum. Emma hurried out of the car, and as soon as the door snapped shut behind her, the agent veered off. With a scoff, Emma made her way to her own vehicle, started it up, and got onto the main road. She sighed, realizing she promised Hannibal she would stop by his office before she headed home. She glanced at the clock in her car; it was 6:30. She had just enough time to catch him before he left for the day.

Ten minutes later, Emma pulled up outside of his office. She parked, hopped out, and walked up to the wooden door. Opening it slowly, she stepped inside and peered around. Spotting a sliver of light from underneath his office door, she walked confidently up to it and knocked softly. She heard the sound of a chair being pulled back, followed by gentle footsteps growing nearer.

Placing a weary grin on her face in anticipation, the door opened suddenly to reveal the ever-handsome Dr. Lecter. The curiosity at who was visiting at this hour faded, only to be replaced by a pleased warmth and a kind smile. "Emma, what a pleasure. Do come in." He stood back, gesturing for her to sit in her usual chair.

She smiled thankfully at him as she entered, lingering just slightly as she passed, long enough to be enveloped once again by his smell and warmth. She continued on, seating herself as he went to the cabinet in order to fetch a bottle of wine.

"Red or white?"

She glanced up, seeing Hannibal presenting two different vintage bottles in her direction. Her eyes brightened as she contemplated how welcome a drink would be after the tumultuous day.

"Red I think. Thank you so much. It's been a trying day to say the least."

He smiled indulgently at her as he filled her glass more than he usually would. "In that case, I think I'll leave the bottle close at hand."

Emma laughed, accepting the glass she was offered with another thanks. "That might be the most welcome thing I've heard this evening."

Hannibal seated himself across from her, taking a sip from his own glass. "How did the questioning go?"

Emma grimaced at the thought, taking another long pull from her glass. "It was a disaster, quite frankly. No matter how much information I gave Agent Crawford, it wasn't enough. He was very aggressive about me delving into my past with Sean." She shuddered.

Hannibal frowned slightly at the thought. "Did you confide in him about your past?"

Emma shook her head. "No, I refused to indulge him. I explained the lengths I went to in order to think in a constructive, healthy way and how damaging pulling down such walls would be without the proper guidance. Plus, I felt it would be a betrayal to you since I hadn't even gotten into that with you yet. He was frustrated at my refusal to say the least."

Hannibal nodded thoughtfully. "That was an intelligent decision. While Jack is very dedicated to catching the killers he pursues so vigilantly, he sometimes forgets the importance of one's mental health. I take it he'll be wanting me in attendance when he interviews you again?"

"Yes, at 9 am tomorrow. If I'm being frank, I'm a little tentative to dive into such things with him. I hate discussing the topic in the first place, and while confiding to you wouldn't bother me, discussing it in such a manner for it to be relayed to numerous individuals is a bit unnerving. I don't want people to think of me as weak." She made a face at the thought.

Hannibal placed his wine glass on the table next to him, leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees and hands clasped between them. "Emma, no one will think any less of you for what you've been through. Every individual goes through traumatic events, and you will have me there to act as a buffer. If Jack pushes too hard or presses too quickly, I shall intervene. You will be in a safe zone in which to confide those tales. Do you understand?"

Emma nodded slowly, meeting Hannibal's eyes with a warm smile. "Thank you, Hannibal. Truly. I know that you understand what a tumultuous place my mind is, what with having so many disorders wreaking havoc in there, and you won't let me backtrack. I'll feel much more at ease with you there guiding the questioning."

The corners of his mouth pulled up as he leaned back into his plush chair and retrieved his half-full wine glass. "It's my pleasure. I appreciate the fact that not only do you trust me to be there, but that you refused to answer that line of questioning until I was present. I find it heartening that you not only are you so passionate about your mental health, but that you feel a sense of loyalty to me. Some patients have seen me for years and only confide the minimum, whereas you've known me for merely a month and have a stronger sense of security with me than they perhaps ever will feel."

Emma flushed a light pink, disguising it by taking another long drink from the glass she held. She turned her focus back to the stately gentleman that sat across from her and shrugged, smiling gently. "You make me feel safe. "

Hannibal took another sip of wine as he took a few seconds to mull over her statement. A portion of him rejoiced at such a declaration; he was growing quite attached to and fond of Emma quite quickly, and the thought of having the ability to make her feel protected gave him a sort of joy. However, another part of him wondered how she would react if she found out who exactly he is and what he is capable of. Deciding that the latter was inconsequential to worry over since she would never find out without him deeming it advantageous, he turned his focus wholly back on the curvy brunette in front of him.

"I'm flattered that my presence is one of comfort to you, Emma. That gratifies me greatly. You are becoming quite a dear friend to me indeed."

As she finished off her glass of wine, Hannibal reached over with the bottle to pour some more into her glass. "Thank you. You're becoming a fast friend of mine as well." A somber look spread over her pretty face. "Hannibal, I must warn you. There are going to be some questions that Jack asks that will trigger frighteningly emotional responses and horrific answers from me. I want you to completely ignore whatever reactions I have, and leave the horrid details in that interrogation room; push me through and don't take no for an answer. If you press me, I'll tell you, but don't let Jack do the majority of the prodding. I don't trust him the way I do you, and I might shut down. Each answer I give will bring them one step closer to capturing him, and taking a multitude of people, including myself, out of harm's way, so I need you to be tough on me if necessary."

Hannibal listened carefully, frowning slightly at the urgency in her melodic voice. His mind flickered with possibilities of what revulsions she might confide in the men, each one more disturbing than the last. While he himself was far from pure with his systematic elimination of the rude and impeding, the thought of what could have possibly occurred to Emma at the hands of another struck him with not only a sense of morbid curiosity but budding antagonism as well. He hoped for this man's sake that his transgressions against Emma weren't as colorfully unspeakable as Hannibal's mind painted them.

"I will make sure to take the appropriate steps. Try to clear it from your head for now; there will be plenty of time to consider such matters in the morning."

The corner of Emma's mouth turned up half-heartedly. "Very true. Anyway, how was your day? Not as off-putting as mine was, I hope?"

Hannibal chuckled at her extreme downplay of the events of that day. "My day was rather uneventful compared to yours, I assure you. Your encounter with Freddie Lounds was the most prominent occurrence of the day. Also the most entertaining, if I'm perfectly honest."

Emma made a face at the name. "Ugh, she's the absolute worst. I'm glad you stepped in when you did, because I was about to smack the sass right out of her. If she writes another article like that, I can't be held responsible for the inevitable murder I'll commit," she joked darkly.

Smirking, Hannibal said, "Don't worry, if that's the case I'll most certainly help you dispose of the body."

Emma's laugh chimed through the room, a pleasant sound to Hannibal's finely tuned ears. "We'll have to do something creative with her then," she mused. Suddenly, she shook her head violently to clear away such thoughts. "Okay, okay, I'm going to stop my thought processes right there before they turn more macabre than they already are."

Hannibal shook his head with a smirk, taking another sip of wine. Suddenly, there was a knock on the office door. Cocking his head to the side, he looked toward the door curiously. He stood gracefully, striding confidently toward the wooden door. Swinging it open halfway, the attractive face of Alana Bloom peered up at him. "Alana, I wasn't expecting you. What can I do for you?"

"Are you busy? I was hoping to discuss what happened at the FBI with you since you weren't able to be there. I also wouldn't say no to a beer," said Alana, smirking up at him.

Hannibal opened the door wider to reveal where Emma was seated. "Ms. Chamberlin and I were just discussing the events of the day. Please, feel free to join us."

Alana's eyes widened infinitesimally; she hadn't expected Emma to be with Hannibal this late in the evening. With her brow slightly furrowed, she proceeded into the room, taking a seat on the chaise lounge. "Hello, Emma. How are you feeling?"

Emma acknowledged Alana with a slight wave as she took a sip of wine, before replying, "Hi, Dr. Bloom. I'm well, thank you for asking. And yourself?"

"I'm just fine," said Alana with a ghost of a smile. "You can call me Alana, you know. Formalities are tiresome, especially since I'm not your therapist."

"Nope, Hannibal's stuck with that unfortunate position," Emma said with a grin.

Alana raised her well-groomed eyebrows at Hannibal discreetly, questioning Emma's use of his first name. Only yesterday she had been referring to him as Dr. Lecter. Hannibal gave her a look that resonated a "not now" mentality as he handed her a Pilsner glass filled to the brim with a foam-topped beer. "Thanks, Hannibal. It's been a long day."

With a good-natured smile, he seated himself once more. "That does seem to be the consensus."

A rather awkward silence followed as the two women took pulls from their respective glasses, Hannibal observing them subtly. Alana cleared her throat. "So, Hannibal, Jack mentioned something about you stopping by the FBI headquarters tomorrow morning? Does Will need your help?"

Hannibal crossed his legs and leaned back, turning to face Alana. "No, Jack requested my presence for the last half of his interrogation of Emma. She refused to answer a good portion of his questions without my attendance. We're due at Quantico at 9 am."

Alana frowned, concern lighting her pale features as she turned to face Emma. "What line of questioning did he want to pursue that made you uncomfortable without Hannibal's presence?"

Emma shifted uncomfortably, glancing up at Hannibal who had busied himself with pouring more wine into his own glass. He was curious as to how she would respond to Emma's prodding, so he pretended not to notice Emma's discomfort.

"Uh well he wanted to dive into some things about my past with the killer that I wasn't prepared to delve into without the aid of Hannibal." She met Alana's gaze with a resilient one of her own. "I have worked very hard on beating my disorders, and it seemed rather reckless of me to just go tearing down the structures I'd worked so long and hard to make in there all willy-nilly. I wanted to wait until a professional could guide me through the process and who better for that than my own psychiatrist." Emma glanced up and met Hannibal's eyes briefly, just long enough to convey that she didn't want to show any weakness in front of Alana and for him to not take it personally that she didn't mention their budding attachment. He inclined his head fractionally to her in understanding; Emma's intelligence regarding interactions was a rarity indeed. Most people would have confided to some degree in Alana regarding their trust in Hannibal, even the friendship they were developing. Emma, on the other hand, kept her cards close to her chest and refused to give away any potentially compromising information. Not only did she decline to divulge any material that could theoretically be used against her later on, in that statement she established the nature of her relationship with Hannibal as exclusively professional so that that as well could not be used against either of them. She protected them both completely, albeit unnecessarily, and Hannibal was certain quite unintentionally. He was utterly positive that she was unaware of this defense mechanism, and he couldn't help but muse over the fact that this ability of hers would be an asset to him indeed should they become exceptionally close.

Alana was completely unaware of the exchange between Hannibal and Emma that had just taken place, and said, "That's a wise choice. There are few who would think to consult their psychiatrist before complying with the FBI's wishes."

Emma shrugged. "With the disorders I have and the time it's taken me to reach this point, I'm not eager to have a relapse."

Alana tilted her head, intrigued. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly were the disorders you diagnosed with?"

Emma sighed quietly, shifting in her seat and cradling her glass to her chest. "I was diagnosed with Bipolar-II, Borderline Personality Disorder, and an anxiety order. That's the gist of it."

Alana's eyes widened in surprise, a slight frown pulling at her dainty mouth. "No wonder you were hesitant to just go poking around in there. How long have you had the diagnoses?"

"I've been in treatment for three years now, and I've hated almost every minute of it," Emma laughed quietly. "Luckily Hannibal didn't mind taking on someone like me as a patient. Not many are willing to even consider me after they find out the combination of disorders I have."

Alana nodded understandingly, her eyes glistening with sympathy. "Borderlines are quite a challenge to treat. Changing how someone perceives the world is an enormous task, and virtually impossible if the person isn't completely invested in bettering himself or herself. I've never known Hannibal to back away from a challenge, though," Alana smirked and winked at him coyly.

Hannibal smiled indulgently at Alana as Emma looked on. The more she watched their interactions, the more she wondered if there was either a past there or perhaps a future. There was no denying the two had chemistry, and coupled with Alana's coquettish behavior and Hannibal's seeming receptiveness to it, she couldn't help but think that the two were on a fast track to dating. What Emma couldn't explain, however, was why that realization left a swirling knot of emotion in the pit of her stomach.

She cleared her throat and set her wine glass down, pulling herself from the comfort the leather chair offered her. "I think I'll head home now and allow you two to talk. It's getting late and I have to be up way too early tomorrow. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Alana. Thank you again for everything Hannibal; I'll see you in the morning." She flashed him a semblance of a grin and walked to the door.

He stood quickly, striding rapidly to the door to hold it open for her. The suddenness of her departure struck him as odd; his mind sorted through possible answers swiftly, knowing that the true answer didn't lie in the time of day but in something else entirely. Then it struck him: was Emma feeling jealousy? He cocked his head as he opened the door for her, studying her downturned gaze and subdued expression. He touched her wrist lightly, enough to get her attention but not obvious enough for Alana to see. "Is everything alright?"

Chocolate met maroon as she turned her eyes up to meet his. Forcing a bright smile across her face, she replied, "Yes, of course Hannibal. I was just trying to be considerate; you've been stuck with me practically all day, and I thought you'd appreciate the chance to converse with Alana alone. Plus I really am exhausted. Agent Crawford definitely knows how to drain those he interrogates."

Scanning her eyes, he nodded slowly. The deeper he looked, the more he saw what lie there; he knew that she held an attraction to him (many did), but this was something more. Her eyes screamed romantic interest, despite the fact that she denied such things, coupled with frustration at herself and resolve to not disclose the truth to anyone, let alone him. He doubted she was consciously aware of it in its entirety, and confusion along with jealousy was the true reason she chose to leave his office. That was it. She thought that he held a romantic interest in Alana, and was bowing out rather gracefully. _This will not do, _he thought to himself.

He decided more thought was necessary on his end before he decided on a course of action. While he knew that he was fascinated by Emma and her intelligence, as well as found her to be a stunning beauty, he needed to analyze all aspects. His existence was a complicated one, and adding a romantic interest into the mix would create even more chaos. He resolved to ponder matters over later that night.

So he let her go. He stood just a little too close to her and smiled softly. "Goodnight, then, Emma. I'll see you at Quantico at 9 o'clock."

It took Emma a moment to process the dismissal as the pairing of his towering figure and mesmerizing smell overwhelmed her. She shook herself mentally and smiled up at him, red lips arching into a beautiful bow. "Goodnight, Doctor." Raising her voice slightly, she called "Goodnight, Alana."

With one more glance at Hannibal's impeccable form and entrancing eyes, she walked out the front door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi, loves! Thank you so much for all of your wonderful feedback! Every review I've gotten has made me grin; I can't tell you how much motivation it is to get such kind words about my shit writing. Anyway, here's the next chapter! Sorry for the delay, but I've been coping with some stuff and I just couldn't make myself publish what I had since I thought it was so awful. In this chapter, there's mentions of physical/emotional abuse and rape, so PLEASE be cautious while reading it. I didn't get crazy detailed with it like some do (you'll see what I mean) but it's still enough to paint a grotesque image in your mind. Just please be careful not to trigger yourself, bbys. Drop me a line as to what you think so far! LOVE YOU BUNCHES!**

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Chapter 7

Hannibal lay in bed, swathed in silk sheets, working through this latest development. Not often was he presented with a decision that stumped him, but this one was quite a task. His mind reeled with the possibilities surrounding Emma, but there was one thought that he just could not escape: he desired her. He did not desire her in merely a lustful manner, although of course he was enticed by her, but rather he desired her as an individual. Emma presented herself as a kind of galaxy; each point of light he investigated was another aspect of herself that captivated him, and the fact that she was draped in a cloud of mystery only intrigued him more.

He sighed, using both hands to push his tousled locks back from his face. While it was easy enough to admit that he wanted her, a whole other, more concerning, issue presented itself. How far would she go to keep his secrets, if she would at all? It was glaringly obvious that she was both talented enough to keep his confidences effortlessly if she so chose, and that she was an incredibly loyal individual. He would have to dissect her moral code before he _ever_ considered divulging his secrets to her, although that would be a long way off yet.

He decided that, starting tomorrow, he would begin to subtly show his interest. This was only the initial step, and that served as a sort of comfort to him. He was intrigued by how she might react to the small, transitional touches he would start with; she very well might take them as increasing comfort in their friendship, which wasn't a bad thing whatsoever. The closer she perceived their friendship, the more emotionally open she would make herself. This would only aid him in his quest. Hannibal enjoyed games, and chess was his favorite. Each interaction with Emma would be the movement of a board piece with the end goal, him hiding behind no facades, being the checkmate. Oh this was a game he was most eager to play indeed.

Tucking his muscled arm behind his head, he closed his eyes with a subtle smirk. Let the game begin.

A rainbow of colored shirts cascaded behind Emma in a multi-clothed flurry as she threw them behind her out of her closet, looking for the right outfit. Ever since she had left Hannibal's office the previous night, that emotion in the pit of her stomach kept gnawing away at her. After a while, she recognized the feeling as stinging jealousy. She had fretted over it all night, and for some reason, this morning she was under the impression that the right outfit would fix everything. Emma scoffed at herself; she usually wasn't one to put so much stock in her clothing, but this feeling just wouldn't stop eating at her. So, deciding that she might as well cater to the strange urge, she had spent the last half hour digging through her modest closet looking for just the right combination of clothing.

If she were honest with herself, it was just as much for Dr. Lecter as it was for giving her an extra boost of confidence to get through the day's trials. She wrinkled her nose at the fact that she was being petty enough to try and out-dress Alana Bloom. Making a disgusted noise at herself, she shook her head as though to clear her mind like an Etch-A-Sketch of those shameful thoughts. It shouldn't matter to her in the least what Alana wore, let alone who Hannibal was attracted to. _I'm his __**patient**__, for Christ's sake, _she scolded herself. _This is ridiculous. I can't be the cause of a tarnished reputation for him. I care too much. He's been nothing but kind and generous to me; am I going to repay that by trashing his life and making it hell? __**No I will not.**_

As her inner monologue ceased, Emma hesitated on an item of clothing she had pulled. Cocking her head slightly to the right, she studied the dress. It wasn't what she usually went for on weekdays, but she needed to put on her armor and war paint to be prepared for today. The bright, cerulean blue cotton garment she held would fit her snugly, and for a moment she wondered if it was entirely too much for the day. The neckline was relatively modest though, and it wasn't tight enough to be obscene despite her being rather blessed in the curve department. The hem came down to about an inch below her knee, so she deemed it appropriate enough. It was attention-grabbing without screaming desperation.

She slipped it on, pulling the dress firmly. Slipping on a pair of black heels, she went to the bathroom to check her outfit and do her hair and makeup. Scrutinizing the dress, she liked what she saw. It hugged her beautifully and would definitely grab attention while not appearing inherently licentious . Deciding to pull her long locks up into a pony tail, she grabbed an elastic and proceeded to gather her hair up to the desired point, using it to tie back the mass of curls. Her bangs waved gently, framing her face nicely while still having the ability to shield her eyes if deemed necessary.

Champagne colored eyeshadow colored her lids while black eyeliner framed her chocolate eyes beautifully. A touch of mascara and a natural gloss later, she was ready to head to Quantico. Walking to the front door, she made sure to grab her black wool coat to fight off the cold.

An hour and a half later, Emma was pulling up outside of FBI headquarters, parking her car in the designated lot. She hopped out of the car, walked along the narrow sidewalk, and trotted up the concrete steps leading to the glass front doors. Swinging the right one open, she dashed inside. She checked the clock on the wall opposite her: 8:55. _Just enough time to find the interrogation room I'll be enjoying today. _

She shrugged out of her coat, looped it over her forearms, and proceeded down the same hallway she had been privy to encountering the previous day. She passed by a group of agents, all of which gawked at her openly. Suddenly feeling rather self-conscious, Emma tilted her head down slightly so that her bangs fell over her right eye, shielding her somewhat from the stares. Quickening her pace, Emma turned down the next hallway and spotted Dr. Lecter and Agent Crawford at the far end. Emma automatically straightened her posture and walked with confidence. _Never let them see you sweat, _she reminded herself.

As the clicking of her heels resonated down the vast hall, both Hannibal and Jack turned to face the woman approaching them, each reacting differently to her appearance. While Jack's jaw dropped at the sight of her, Hannibal schooled his features into one of a warm greeting. However that didn't stop him from admiring her as she walked over to them. The gentle sway of her hips was rhythmic; he was confident he could play music using her movement as a metronome. And while Emma always looked put-together and attractive, today she exceeded any unrealized expectations he possessed. The cerulean fabric was both a flattering color and fit, and he commended her on the choice. He had never seen her hair in a ponytail, and this sleek alternative to her usual loose waves was striking. But beyond the physical she was hypnotizing as well. This morning she exuded self-assurance and poise, and he was quite certain that she wore the metaphorical mask for Jack's benefit rather than his own; in this case Jack was an aggressor in her mind and she would show no weakness. He knew that if it had just been he and she, she would trust him enough to showcase her true emotions.

Emma finally reached the two men and quirked artful lips up into a slight smile, head held high. "Gentlemen, it's a pleasure. I hope you're both well today?" she asked solicitously.

Jack, having pulled himself together, donned his agent persona. "Yes, quite well Emma, thank you. Let's get started, shall we?" He gestured to the door across from the group, going to hold it open for them.

Emma smiled to herself. _Someone certainly isn't wasting any time, _she thought wryly. She walked in front of Hannibal and was taken aback when she felt a hand rest gently on her lower back, guiding her through the door and to her seat, which he then helped her into. After he sat himself next to her on the left side of the table, she glanced up at him and smiled, slight questioning lighting her warm eyes. He returned the expression reassuringly.

Taking a seat on the opposite side heavily and with a loud expulsion of air, Jack addressed Emma. "Alright, let's get started. Yesterday you told me that you and the killer knew each other rather well. Care to elaborate?"

Emma took a deep breath, slowly letting it out with a glance at Hannibal. "Sean and I dated for a few years. I moved out here to get away from him; he was abusive and controlling, and I was scared. When he found out I was considering a job in Baltimore, he freaked. I came home one day to my place of residence broken into and a red line painted across my eyes in every picture I had on display. In the same red paint, 'Miss me?' was painted on the walls. The next day I was packing my belongings and making the move here."

Jack crossed his arms. "I see. How was he abusive toward you? Was it emotional, physical, what?"

"It was both," Emma said quietly. "He controlled what I wore, and if a man happened to look in my direction, Sean would tell me how much of a whore I was and how the men could practically smell it on me. I can't tell you how many times I was called a slut, bitch, cunt, etc.; you name it, he called me it. I wasn't allowed to have opinions, and the ones I expressed were always wrong. I was jeered at, treated as though I was inferior, humiliated, and was constantly accused of cheating. I wasn't allowed to have friends, and was expected to come home straight after work every day; he had even tried to convince me to quit my job at one point. That's just the gist of the emotional stuff."

Jack scratched his chin, looking her over. "And the physical?"

Emma shrank in her seat. She could feel the walls she had oh-so-carefully built around all of these hardships crumbling, and she tried to cling to them. She shook her head furiously. "No, I can't. The walls are crumbling, I can't."

Hannibal glanced at Jack before turning his gaze to Emma. He laid his hand on hers, gaining her attention. "Emma, it's alright to access these emotions. The key is to embrace them and let yourself feel them, but don't let them rule you. You are safe here; no one will harm you."

Emma scanned his eyes frantically, letting herself be soothed by his accented baritone and the calm in his maroon eyes. Taking a shaky breath, she nodded minutely. "Alright."

She transferred her gaze to Jack before staring at the metal table her hands rested upon. Hannibal kept his own on hers to act as an anchor; how he knew that was exactly what she craved right now perplexed her.

She proceeded to tell a gruesome tale of frequent beatings, very obviously glazing over the more intense ones for either her benefit or their own, Hannibal wasn't sure. He could tell she was on shaky ground mentally, and was about to ask if they could take a break so that she could gather herself when she surprised him by steeling herself abruptly and going into detail about the last horrifying beating she took.

"It was after the museum here in Baltimore had called me and offered me a position with them. I was so excited at the opportunity; it was the perfect chance to launch my career and to interact with the type of pieces I had longed for since my studies. I had run into the living room, calling out Sean's name. I found him sitting in the recliner watching some sport show, I don't know which one. Not that it's even important; I don't know why I mentioned it. Anyway, I told him about the call and how much I wanted to accept and move to Baltimore. He took that as me saying I was accepting, moving across the country, and that I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. In the back of my mind, I knew that was exactly what I wanted. I wanted the chance, finally, to escape. He stood slowly, dropping his voice as he asked me what I just said. Danger was always near at hand when he spoke softly to me. I backed up, holding my hands in front of me as I tried to reassure him that that wasn't the case, until he had me cornered."

Emma was trembling, holding back a flood of tears as she stared determinedly at her tightly clasped hands. "He beat me brutally. He punched me until I was on the ground, and then kicked me until I threw up. He brought out his pocket knife and cut me across my cheek; he said it was 'something to remember him by,'" Emma spat disgustedly. "He grabbed the half-empty whiskey bottle that was on the side table and poured it over me before he smashed the bottle on my head. Told me that I wasn't anything without him, and that if I left, I would pay the price."

Tears started flowing freely down Emma's face; she was about to snap and Hannibal knew it. "As soon as it started, it stopped again. I thought he was finished, and that I could go tend to myself. I was wrong. I looked up at him, and saw a different, frenzied light in his eyes. He stroked my hair back from my face and told me how this look suited me; that the blood covering my face from my nose and the cut on my cheek and the bruising spreading over my body was erotic." Emma grew frighteningly still, voice dropping to a barely intelligible level. "Then he raped me."

At that, Hannibal stiffened, a rare rage darkening his visage. Emma started sobbing uncontrollably now, covering her face with her hands as the men looked on. Hannibal took Emma into his arms, wrapping them securely around her and encouraging her to bury her face into his chest. Jack looked on with a muted horrified expression, quickly gaining back his professional appearance. After clearing his throat, he muttered, "Maybe we should take a break."

Hannibal nodded curtly as Jack got up to leave the room, stroking the top of Emma's head as she wept. He spoke soothingly to her, reminding her that she was here with him and that she was not in harm's way. He murmured into her ear for some time before she finally had enough of a handle on herself to be able to pull away. Tilting her tear-stained face up at him and meeting his gaze through red, swollen eyes, she whispered, "Thank you, Hannibal. Thank you so much."

He placed his hand on hers, studying her. "How are you feeling?"

Emma let out a watery laugh, looking at him slightly incredulously. "How would you be feeling right now, dear Doctor?"

He chuckled humorlessly before indicating for her to answer his question. She sighed softly, replying, "I feel scared. More than scared. Petrified. I'm feeling all of those emotions so acutely, and with him having found me…" she trailed off before taking in a shaky breath, burying her face in her free hand. "I feel like he could be around any corner. I knew he was unstable and dangerous, but I never thought he would go around murdering women who looked like me, and then using their bodies to try and win me back. That last kill was practically poetry, for god's sake. It makes me think that it's a sign; if he can't have me, he'll kill me."

Hannibal tightened his grip on her hand minutely. "Jack and Will are the best there are. They'll have him in custody almost immediately now that they know his name and his motive. But mentally, are you feeling sound? Do you feel as though you've backtracked whatsoever?"

Emma smiled up at him, shaking her head no. "I just relieved some suppressed emotions and re-experienced some traumatic memories. All of my progress seems to have remained intact. If I'm honest, I think it had to do with your presence. You make me feel very secure."

Hannibal's eyes softened slightly. "I will protect you, Emma."

She studied him, reading his eyes. "I believe you, Hannibal. I'm honored. You strike me as the type to be relatively self-preserving, and that you don't take people under your protection lightheartedly. In all honesty, I fear for the people who cross you. I feel that you would be quite the formidable adversary."

Hannibal cocked his head slightly. "What gives you that impression?"

Emma shrugged. "Just a hunch I guess. You're the epitome of well-mannered and cultured, but sometimes when I look into your eyes I feel like you have a side to you that could be quite perilous to an individual who crosses you." She smiled as she said, "Everyone has a darker side. It doesn't faze me that you're more in tune with yours since I have no plans to upset or betray you."

Hannibal's mouth quirked up slightly at her statement; he continually seemed to underestimate her, and the constant revelations regarding her perceptions and strength of character were enjoyable. While many perceived him as a rather passive psychiatrist, he felt a sense of pleasure in the fact that Emma could pick up on the more lethal side to him and that she was unperturbed by it. Simultaneously, he knew it also meant he would have to redouble his efforts at maintaining the illusion he presented to everyone else to her as well. It would not do for her to come to conclusions before the time he designated as appropriate. While he did have an attraction and fondness for her, he would not hesitate to remove the threat if one presented itself. However, he loathed the very notion. "In that case I'm sure you are aware of the extent to which you can rely on me to keep you safe. I do not make friends lightly, Emma, and I treasure the ones I do have."

Emma nodded, smiling up at him with warm eyes. "I am incredibly grateful for the friendship you've shown me, Hannibal. You are truly a good friend to me. Not many men would encourage a distraught woman to cry into their expensive suit. I'm sorry for staining it," she said sheepishly. "If you give me the bill for the dry cleaning, I'll more than happily pay for it."

Hannibal dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. "Nonsense, I'm quite confident a few tear stains will not prove detrimental to this particular piece of clothing. If it can survive an errant wine drop, it can survive a few tears." His eyes scanned hers, pleased to note that the misery residing there had been moved to the back burner, replaced with her usual pleasant warmth. Before he could say anything more, the door abruptly swung open again, with Crawford's intimidating form filling the entryway.

"We have all we require at the present time, Ms. Chamberlin. You and Dr. Lecter are free to go. If I come up with any other questions, I'll give you a call." He stepped back out of the doorframe, indicating the two should rise and he would escort them out.

Emma stood quickly, brushing the last of the tears from the corners of her slightly reddened eyes, straightening her dress, and plastering what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face. She started toward the open door, Hannibal a half-step behind her with the same hand ghosting over her toned lower back that had been previously. With a polite nod to the FBI agent on Hannibal's part, he and Emma walked leisurely down the hall to the front doors of the headquarters.

A gust of cool air hit her as they descended the few cement steps that led to the sidewalk, making her shiver lightly. She shrugged her coat on, pulling it tight around her petite frame, hunching in on herself slightly as she lengthened her strides to keep up with Dr. Lecter. He glanced at her, stopping as he saw a hint of fear flash in her eyes as they reached the parking lot; it was very apparent she didn't want to be alone right now. Rapidly and efficiently, he recalled what exactly he had to accomplish today. He discreetly checked his watch, and seeing that it was only going on 11, came to the conclusion that he had the time necessary to dedicate to her before his appointment at 3.

She backtracked a few steps, stopping next to Hannibal and scanning his eyes with curiosity. "What is it?" She could tell he was concentrating, but on what puzzled her deeply.

He clasped his hands, the resemblance of a smile pulling at his regal mouth. "I was wondering if you would care to join me for lunch. I was planning on making a hearty soup since the weather is getting colder, and would very much appreciate the company."

Emma's eyes widened slightly at the invitation before her forehead wrinkled and her gaze turned downward. She worried her lip and glanced back up at him, plump pink flesh still caught between pearly white teeth.

"Are you sure I wouldn't be impeding on your afternoon, Hannibal? You've already been stuck with me so much over the past two days, and I can only imagine how tiresome I must be at times. Hell, I annoy myself so I can't fathom how you tolerate such a concentration of me in such a short time span."

Hannibal resisted a sigh; he knew there would be aftereffects of such an intense interrogation and he wasn't surprised to find her questioning her self-worth. Perhaps if he reassured her now, it would put a halt to other symptoms of her personality disorder from rearing their head. She usually had such a handle on them, and he was pleased with how much effort she had placed in rectifying her thinking overall. He stepped closer to her, grasping her shoulders lightly and running his thumbs soothingly over the sides of her arms. She quirked a shapely eyebrow questioningly, forehead still wrinkled with worry.

"Emma, let me assure you that if I did not enjoy your company or wish to spend more of my time with you, I would not have invited you to join me for lunch; instead, I would have escorted you to your vehicle, bid you farewell, and proceeded to dine alone. I do not surround myself with people I find tiresome or a nuisance, Emma, so please dismiss those thoughts from your head. I value your presence, and find you an extremely engaging individual. Do not question that." A different emotion lit his eyes now; Emma tried to decipher what it was, but the closest she could place it to be was a type of playfulness. "And to be quite frank, my afternoon would be mind-numbingly dreary if I did not have the pleasure of your company. Please do me the honor of saving me from rather a dull afternoon by gracing me with your delightful presence."

Emma gave an appreciative grin, while restraining the urge to roll her soulful eyes; she knew he was doing this for her benefit, so that she wouldn't be alone when she felt most vulnerable. She appreciated it more than she could ever express, and she found it sickeningly gentlemanly that he made it sound as though she would be doing him the favor instead of the other way around. She knew that he was aware that if he had phrased it a number of other ways, she would have politely refused and gone home no matter how desperately she wanted his company, simply for the fact that she didn't want to monopolize his time. He was clever, and she grateful.

"I'd love to join you for lunch, Hannibal. Soup sounds wonderful."

And with that statement, a knowing smile shared between the two companions, and a tightening once more of Emma's coat, they headed to their separate cars.


End file.
